


All in Due Time

by munroxochika



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Harry Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Poor Harry, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munroxochika/pseuds/munroxochika
Summary: Loosely inspired by the fic "Tempus Fugit Praeterhac" by quill_lumos, and set in the summer after 4th year.Harry Potter spends another summer living with the Dursleys. Hardly treated better than a slave, Harry is forced to deal with the Dursley's often brutal methods of taunting and punishing him.But when Harry returns to Hogwarts, a potion gone wrong in Professor Snape's class sends Harry and Snape back in time to a medieval era where slavery and serfdom thrive. Will Snape and Harry be able to survive each other, and get back to their timeline? Will a certain parselmouth be lurking in the shadows?My first fic so *please be kind*





	1. Summer with the Durselys

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tempus Fugit Praeterhac](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/382557) by quill_lumos. 



There was hardly a day spent with the Dursleys without some sort of commotion unfairly being blamed on Harry. Last week Harry was blamed for it raining and ruining the picnic Petunia had planned. It wasn’t on the forecast, she had sniffed, and sent Harry to work outside in the garden as punishment. “You made it rain, you make it stop” she chided as he protested. 

Today especially, Dudley seemed to have it out for Harry. 

In truth, Dudley always seemed to have it out for Harry, but today he was insufferable.   
He had somehow overheard one of Harry’s nightmares, and was viciously taunting him “Cedric, oh Cedric!” over breakfast, snickering when Harry received a thump over the head from Vernon for trying to retort back. 

No, today was not a good day for Harry. His patience against his cousin’s ruthless taunts was wearing thin; he only prayed he could manage to spend another month with the Dursleys before school started again. Letters from his friends helped, surely, but he longed to be far away from Privet drive...away from this house he could never call a home and away from his three most insufferable relatives. 

Harry was currently on his knees outside, planting in Petunia’s garden. Hot and sticky, he took a moment to lift his head to catch the breeze, and wiped beads of sweat from his brow. Behind him he heard a car door slam; Vernon must be home already. Harry felt his stomach give a jolt and his mouth water at the thought of dinner coming soon. Petunia was making one of her summer favorites; a strawberry-kale salad drizzled with her “secret” sauce that was just balsamic and oil mixed together. This was not a particular favorite of Dudley’s, but Harry wasn’t as picky. Besides, he had spent the entire day working outside without lunch for trying to trip Dudley. 

Harry tensed as he felt his uncle’s looming presence behind him.   
“Petunia has you working then” Vernon commented. Harry did not look up or make a move to turn towards the bigger man. His hands tightened into fists and he muttered “Yep”. 

Vernon narrowed his beady eyes.

“What did you say boy?, whispered venomously, as Vernon was not one to attract attention outside. No, he would wait until he was inside with Harry to yell at him and give him a good thrashing. Harry’s muscles automatically tensed; and all he could think about was the bruise from last time he decided to speak back to his uncle. 

“I mean yes sir” Harry corrected. 

He grit his teeth together angrily. Vernon, seemingly satisfied, nodded and walked to the house, whistling. 

Half an hour later Petunia stuck her head out of the window and called “Get inside. Now” in her shrill voice. Harry was all too happy to get up from his throne of mud. He looked down at the beautiful array of flowers he had helped flourish, and couldn’t help thinking of his best friend Ron in his home. He bet Ron was off de-gnoming the garden or playing Quidditch with his siblings, not slaving away with the worst relatives in history.


	2. Vernon's Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vernon Dursely takes his anger out on Harry Potter when a prank involving a frog goes dreadfully wrong.

The next few days passed by dreadfully slowly.

On Tuesday Harry not-so-accidentally put a frog he had found outside on Dudley’s chair to give him a good fright as revenge for Dudley pulling another prank on him. Dudley, however, plopped his big rear end on the chair without so much as one glance down and ended up squashing that poor frog. It made a dreadful splat sound as it squelched beneath him. 

Petunia was beside herself, moaning about how her chair was ruined, and Dudley had run from the room screaming “I’ve killed it!”  
Harry spent the better part of that afternoon cleaning that chair until it shone, but even worse than facing Petunia’s wrath was facing his Uncle’s.

Uncle Vernon’s moustache twitched dangerously as Petunia told him when he got home from work. Harry had decided to stay out of the way. He figured waiting it out in his room was much safer than being within arms’ reach of his Uncle, but his Uncle had other ideas.

“BOY” he heard his Uncle yelling as he clamored up the stairs. 

He slammed open Harry’s door, causing Harry to flinch back onto his bed in surprise.

“WHAT IS THIS I HEAR ABOUT YOU USING MAGIC IN THIS HOUSE”

Harry shook his head frantically. “Honestly uncle I swear, I didn’t use magic. I can’t use magic when I’m here you know that”

Vernon, gasping for breath in his rage, paused and focused his eyes on Harry.  
“Then how do you explain what happened downstairs” he demanded.

Harry flushed. “I er, well I did something wrong and I’m sorry about that. But sir, I swear it wasn’t magic. It was from the garden” 

Vernon’s paw-sized hands clenched and unclenched as he stared at Harry, as if debating what to do with him. His eyes looked murderous; no doubt Dudley had fed him an altered version of the story about how it was ten frogs instead of one or something along those lines. 

“Uncle-” Harry tried, but Vernon suddenly roared with his arms outstretched towards Harry, latching onto his throat.  
“YOU. DO NOT. DO. ANYTHING. LIKE THAT. TO MY SON. AGAIN. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. BOY?”

Harry, fingers trying to desperately wrench off his Uncle’s hands from his throat, sputtered “Y-y-yes”, gasping for breath. 

Vernon suddenly let go of him and threw Harry backwards.  
Harry landed on the bed, but scrambled back up, afraid Vernon would lunge at him again. He put his arms out in front of him protectively. 

“You are nothing but a worthless boy” Vernon sneered. “Always causing trouble. First you bring that ruddy bird of yours home. She’s always making a racket you know”

Harry swallowed down the retort that was about to slip his mouth. Best to try and placate his uncle when he was like this, not fuel the flames. 

“Yes sir” he agreed. 

Vernon flashed him an evil smile. “Boy, we keep you here from the goodness of our hearts. We feed you, we clothe you, and give you a room...and yet you’re ungrateful. You’re an ungrateful little freak. And when you do something...abnormal, you ought to get punished for it.”

Harry gulped. “Petunia made me clean that chair. All the chairs, actually. I swear uncle, she made sure I got punished for it” 

Vernon tsked and shook his head. “But how are you going to learn how to behave? We can’t send you off to that..” his eye twitched and he frowned uncomfortably before continuing  
“We can’t send you to your school without having learned some manners” 

“Manners?” Harry asked.

Vernon didn’t reply. He started whistling, as he always does when he’s about to do something particularly enjoyable like eat or watch the telly. He took off his belt and lashed it in the air with a crack.

Harry flinched again.  
“Uncle” he whispered, frozen still.

“Now boy, you have to learn your lesson. We’ll have no more of your abnormalness in this house”

Harry had never been hit with the belt before. He’d met his uncles fists many a time, and even Dudley’s, but a good thwack to the head or kick in the stomach and they’d go away, satisfied. 

But this...this. 

“Come here boy” Vernon demanded.  
Harry shook his head frantically. He felt all too powerless at the moment, rooted to the spot in terror. 

His magic seemed to surge inside of him, trying to come to his aid, but he quelled it down lest he start off the school year by being expelled from Hogwarts for magic in front of muggles.

Vernon grabbed him by the arm and threw him on the ground. Harry remained on all fours, too scared to move or think. 

“Take off those pants, they’re too good for you” Vernon snapped.  
When Harry didn’t make a move Vernon put a threatening hand on the waistband of his jeans and Harry quickly complied. 

Harry was left in his underwear, feeling very self-conscious.

He shifted to his knees and turned to face his uncle, his hands protectively covering his privates, blushing furiously. 

This felt more degrading than anything they had ever put him through in his 14 years living with them. 

“Turn. Around” grit out Vernon. He unceremoniously grabbed Harry’s shoulder to turn him back around on all fours. 

“Uncle- Sir. Please no, I swear I won’t ever --” “SHUT. UP.” Vernon roared over him.

Harry shivered beneath him. He started to sweat, and he trembled in anticipation of the blows to come. 

Vernon was ruthless. A rain of blows pelted Harry’s backside. Harry was uncontrollably sobbing after the 10th blow. 

“PLEASE uncle stop” he cried.

Another hit had Harry gasping. He wondered if he was bleeding, it certainly felt as if he was bleeding. 

After what seemed an eternity, Vernon’s blows ceased. He heard Vernon panting; the physical exertion of beating Harry had left him feeling winded. Harry stayed still, not daring to move a muscle, afraid it would incite Vernon to continue. 

Suddenly he heard Vernon speak. “Turn around” he ordered. Harry slowly moved his limbs to face his uncle, grimacing with each movement. He kept his eyes on his uncle’s shoes, with his hands over his lap.  
It felt like fire to have his sore bottom rest on his legs. It felt wet and sticky; he was sure there was blood. 

“Have you learned your lesson boy?” asked Vernon.

Harry kept his eyes down. “Yes sir” he whispered.

“SPEAK UP BOY”

“Y-yes Sir!” Harry tried louder. 

Vernon grabbed Harry by the collar and lifted him back up onto his feet. 

“You will go downstairs and apologize to Dudley.” 

Harry nodded, and turned to retrieve his pants but his uncle’s hand slapped him away. 

“I said NOW”. 

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “But I can’t like this”, gesturing to his almost naked lower half. 

Vernon raised his eyebrows, causing Harry to blush. “You’ll have to earn those pants back, and it starts with apologizing NOW” He slapped Harry’s backside, causing him to jump in pain.

Harry nodded and quickly sped out of the room, eager to get away from his uncle. 

“And let that be a reminder to you if you get any other ideas into that empty head of yours!” Vernon called after him.


	3. Hidden under the floorboards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to write one more chapter of Harry's life with the Dursleys before he goes back to Hogwarts and the time warp happens with Professor Snape! 
> 
> Comments, thoughts, and constructive feedback much appreciated
> 
> Having read countless stories through live journal, fanfiction and this archive, I am excited to try to add to the list of inspiring works and retellings of such great characters! 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Harry did not get his pants back until the end of that week. Worse still, Harry was told to politely ask for them back, only to be denied three times. In the end it took the most courteous, polite voice he could muster to softly ask “Please uncle, may I be allowed my pants again?” for Vernon’s grubby hands to pass along his jeans. 

That had meant a long grueling week of work without any pants on. Not that he was complaining; on the one hand, it had its perks. It meant that Petunia couldn’t force him to spend the day toiling in the garden. She couldn’t risk any of the neighbors catching sight of him, her household would be the talk of the town!

It did mean he had to spend his days helping Petunia indoors, which normally he would find torturous, but at the mere sight of him in his underwear she would shudder and wrinkle her nose in disgust. She would often send him off with menial tasks so she would be left to her work alone.

He spent one full day cleaning the kitchen tiles with a toothbrush, graciously provided to him by Petunia. He spent quite a few hours cleaning the grime from the basement floor, and another few cleaning up Dudley’s room, though Dudley would have a heart attack if he ever found out Petunia let him in there. 

On top of all the more menial chores, there was the basics that Harry sought after with diligence day after day. First, breakfast. Frying the eggs and bacon, setting the table, clearing it and washing the dishes, doing the laundry, folding, ironing, and dusting around. 

Harry laughed bitterly when he thought of what his schoolmates would say if they saw The Boy Who Lived now. 

What most scared Harry, however, was this newfound change in his uncle. His aunt was as disgusted with him as ever, so much so that she hardly ever wanted him in the same room. Harry was used to that, and knew how to deal with feeling unwanted and invisible. 

But Vernon...he wanted Harry in the same room, if only to taunt him. He had taken to whistling whenever he was alone with Harry, almost beside himself in how giddy he was at having his punching bag to himself. 

When Harry accidentally splashed milk onto Vernon’s lap when trying to aim for his coffee, Vernon wordlessly got up from his seat and walked upstairs, with Harry trembling behind him. 

Harry’s room was the designated terror area, or so it seemed. No longer the refuge it had been, it was now the source of all of Harry’s pain inflicted by his all too eager uncle. 

Vernon waited until Harry shut the bedroom door behind him before pouncing on him, snarling about how now he had to get changed before work. 

In the end he made Harry clean it up using a wet rag. It was a very uncomfortable task for Harry as he tried to softly rub everything off whilst avoiding making contact with his uncle’s genitals through the fabric.

When Vernon was satisfied, he yanked Harry up by his hair and brought Harry’s face close to his own. Harry couldn’t meet his eyes as Vernon threatened “Next time you do something stupid like that again you’ll be LICKING it off”

 

The days seemed to pass by very much the same. His birthday was forgotten at home, but not by his friends, who had left him cakes and presents carefully hidden under the floorboards.

It was Harry’s few sources of comfort to know that he was still able to write and receive letters from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid and Sirius. Harry had even attempted to send a letter to Cho Chang, but every time he thought of her his heart panged painfully in memory of Cedric. 

His nightmares hadn’t dissipated; in fact they had exacerbated. Harry woke up screaming more times than he could count, that eventually Vernon came in screaming “YOU MAKE ONE MORE BLOODY SOUND AND WE’LL THROW YOU OUT I SWEAR IT” 

Harry then took to avoiding sleep as long as possible. His best course of action, or so he figured, was to prevent those recurring nightmares from transpiring by not sleeping at all. 

He passed through those sleepless nights by looking through his textbooks and getting a headstart on homework assignments, but the next day he would be a walking zombie going about his tasks. 

Petunia had obviously started to take notice, as she slipped him a little more cheese on his bread every now and again, or a glass of milk. 

Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes and he could hardly keep them open.  
He began to have conversations without remembering them even taking place. He apparently had a very nice conversation with Dudley without even realizing it.

Dudley had walked into the room, taken one sight of Harry and closed his mouth off of whatever snarky comment he was about to make. 

Harry, apparently, had jumped the gun and muttered “Go to hell Dudley” to which Dudley replied “yeah, all right”. 

“You in hell?” Harry asked 

Dudley eyed Harry suspiciously. Harry was finding it very difficult to stand still, his thin body swaying uneasily as his glassy eyes stared at nothing on the opposite side of the room.

“Yep.” came Dudley’s response.

“Good. Me too”.

But although Petunia and even Dudley had taken some sort of pity on the boy, Harry was nothing but a whipping boy to his uncle. 

Anything gone wrong within the household was blamed on Harry. This was nothing new, but the punishments that came with it were. And the reasons for punishment became all the more ludicrous.  
When Harry was blamed for burning the bacon, which to be fair, he did do, Harry was made to burn one of his clothes as recompense. 

When Harry was blamed for a sale gone wrong at work, which obviously had nothing to do with him, he was made to sit in a bathtub of ice water to “think on his wrongdoings”

When Harry was blamed for the sun burning Dudley’s back when he negligently forgot to apply lotion with his friends on the beach, Harry was punished most severely. Vernon didn’t like it when Harry suddenly snapped “How could I have done that I wasn’t there!”. 

Before he knew what was happening, Harry was thrown on the floor onto his stomach, jeans wrenched down from his slim frame, and thrashed mercilessly. He was crying and pleading for his uncle to stop before Vernon relented. 

After his punishments, Vernon found it most rewarding to have Harry ask for forgiveness. No, beg for it. 

Harry would get on his knees and beg his uncle to forgive his wrongdoings.  
If Vernon felt that the punishment did not yet fit the crime, Harry would have to beg for the punishment to continue to correct his behavior. 

When one of Harry’s plants died in the garden, it was deemed all Harry’s fault due to negligence.  
Harry’s begging for forgiveness after his first round of punishment did not appease Vernon right away. 

Harry, sniffling on the floor, kept his eyes on the carpet in front of him in his room. His uncle stared down at him, upper lip curling in disgust. 

“Please forgive me uncle, I-I” he tried, thinking of his sore backside.

His uncle shook his head. “What exactly are you sorry for boy out with it”

“I killed one of your plants” 

“One of Petunia’s plants” Vernon correct 

“Petunia’s plants” Harry repeated dutifully. 

“Petunia was rather fond of those plants. She is most distraught...most distraught”

Harry snorted. It wasn’t a person they were speaking was after all. It was a plant. A blasted plant that had probably just died because one of Dudley’s favorite things to do when he was bored or angry was destroy his mother’s garden. 

“What did you just say?” Vernon’s eyes glinted dangerously, a malicious smirk on his face.

“Nothing’ Harry said, trying to look contrite.

Vernon paused, looking around the room.  
“You have how many more days left with us?”

Harry replied quickly “10”. He kept track of the days left before “freedom” quite diligently, but his quick response didn’t seem to anger Vernon. If anything, he just seemed thoughtful.

Harry shifted on the floor uncomfortably. His knees were aching already, how much longer would his uncle keep him like this? 

“Ten more days” his uncle repeated, looking around the room. He took a step towards Harry and the floorboards creaked below him. Vernon looked down, staring at the worn planks and Harry’s stomach lurched. Vernon had been in his room many times before, but he had never started nosing around. 

Directly beneath Vernon lay Harry’s special stash of cakes, cards and presents from his friends.  
Directly beneath him, lay a huge secret that he never in a million years, wanted Vernon to see.  
This was his lifeline, his solace, his---

“Harry” he heard Vernon calling him.

“Is there something under there?”


	4. Punish Me

“Is something under there?”

Harry looked anywhere but at his Uncle or the floor boards. At the moment, the door across the room seemed particularly interesting, and Harry focused his gaze on that as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt.

His uncle could not look under there.  
“Er...no. Creaky floors” Harry muttered, trying to appear as offhand and casual as possible.

Vernon eyed him suspiciously, prodding his shoes over the boards again as they creaked. 

“Do you know why we moved Dudley out of this room?” he suddenly asked Harry, eyeing him sharply.

Harry continued to stare at the door. “No uncle” he responded, heart pounding loudly in his chest.

“We moved our Dudley out, because this room was far too small and old for him. Far too old. Damn floor boards came loose, he said. Holes underneath, he said. But you know, I never quite checked them out for myself. Better do that now, to make sure you don’t fall down to our kitchen. We wouldn’t want that now would we?” Vernon asked maliciously.

Harry shook his head. “Honestly uncle I-I... think it’s just old wood”

Vernon chuckled. “We’ll see m’boy we’ll see” 

He made a move as if to bend downwards, and before Harry could stop himself he blurted “Punish me”.

Vernon jolted upright. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen his uncle move that fast in his life.

Eyeing him ravenously, Vernon whispered “What did you say boy?”

Cheeks heating, Harry responded to the floor. “Please punish me. I need to be punished more for killing Petunia’s plants. I deserve more”, in what he hoped was a contrite and subservient tone.

Vernon looked down on him thoughtfully and silently. 

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. The wood was painful against his knobbly knees, and his heart kept pounding at the very real possibility of Vernon discovering the only thing he had found solace in during his recent summers with the Dursleys.

“I think you do need to be punished” Vernon decided. “You agree?”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. The creaky floorboards at the moment seemed forgotten. “Yes” he breathed, nodding his head in assent.  
“Please sir” he added for good measure.

Vernon chuckled. It made Harry’s insides churn to hear it.  
“My my what a bad boy we have. You like being punished, don’t you Harry?”

Harry looked up at Vernon in surprise. Vernon hardly ever referred to him by his first name. It was always “Boy do this” and “Boy do that”. 

“Errr..” Harry didn’t know how to respond. Did he like being punished? How do you even answer that question? Of course not. 

But his uncle was clearly expecting an answer. Harry’s eyes furtively glanced around the room as if hoping to find an answer lying around somewhere. 

“I...killed Petunia’s plants” Harry finished lamely, not sure at all where his uncle was going with this. His uncle liked him to beg for forgiveness; did he want him to beg for his punishment now too? 

Vernon agreed.  
“Yes Harry, you’ve been a really naughty boy.”

Again with calling him by his name. Why did that sound so...wrong? 

“I’m sorry” Harry offered, staring at his hands. For a moment both of them were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. Vernon looked down at Harry with his beady eyes, and Harry squirmed underneath his gaze, unable to lift his head.

“Come here” Vernon said suddenly.

Harry’s head snapped up, and he moved to get up and cross the small distance between him and his uncle.

“Not like that!” his uncle snapped. “Crawl”. 

Harry blushed. Slowly, he got down on all fours and crawled over to his uncle, figuring this was just another way for his uncle to try to demean him and “teach him manners”.

“We’re going to do things a little differently” Vernon decided.

Harry looked up expectantly. He was waiting to be told to turn around and meet the end of his uncle’s belt for one sound thrashing, but that was better than his uncle discovering his secret, right?

“I want you to open my pants” Vernon stated.

Harry looked at him as if he had three heads. He gazed up confusedly.

“Unzip my pants!” his uncle retorted snappishly.

Harry leaned away from his uncle indignantly.

“You can’t mean that” Harry sputtered, looking away from his uncle.

But Vernon was having none of this. Grabbing Harry by his hair, he yanked him up to meet his cold gaze. Harry yelped and tried to pull away indignantly, but Vernon’s meaty grasp was too heavy on him. 

“You asked to be punished, did you not? You asked for this”.

Without so much as a second look he threw Harry back down to the ground. “Now open this bloody zipper or I swear you won’t be able to sit down for a week!”.

Harry desperately looked up to his uncle. “Sir you can’t. I’m...family” Harry whispered, his voice breaking.

“Not by blood we’re not” Vernon spit out.  
“Remember your place boy. What are you?” he demanded.

Harry knew the answer all too well. “Worthless. Freak. Abnormal”. Problem was he was starting to believe it.

“And don’t you forget it” Vernon nodded proudly. “Your bloody school should thank me for the manners I’m teaching you. Best not to forget your place boy”.

So he was back to being called “boy” again. Harry nodded lamely at his uncle. With trembling hands, he brought down his uncles zipper and inhaled sharply. He could not do this, he just couldn’t…

“Now unbutton the top” Vernon directed, savoring every moment of this.

He had asked for this, he had asked to be punished. He deserved it, he heard a voice say in the back of his mind. Harry shook away his thoughts and gingerly unbuttoned his uncle’s pants. 

“Now what do you say boy?” Vernon demanded.  
Harry looked at him dumbstruck.  
“I want to hear you beg for me. Beg to be justly punished. Beg for my cock” Vernon licked his lips and yanked Harry closer to his hard member through the fabric. 

Harry’s head was swimming with confusing thoughts. He felt frozen, lost inside his head, feeling his heart rate accelerate and beads of sweat at the nape of his neck. Vernon took a large hand and smacked Harry’s cheek, hard. 

“Well what are you waiting for boy” Vernon spat.  
Harry brought a hand up to his throbbing cheek, and defiantly brought his gaze up to his uncle. “I’m not going to do it. You’re a pervert uncle. You can’t do this to me!”’

Vernon hissed and shoved Harry away, pants still open. “Well if we’re not going to play nicely, I guess we’ll just have to go and check under these floorboards after all”. He made a nice show of bending down and getting ready to feel around the wood for loose pieces, before Harry began to lose his nerve.

Which was the lesser evil? What could he face?  
“I’m sorry, wait!” Harry cried out. He could see Vernon stop and look up at him, waiting. An evil smirk played at his lips, and Harry wanted nothing more than to smack it off. 

“Please let me try again?” Harry asked quietly, hating how weak he sounded.  
Worthless. Freak. Abnormal played over and over again in his head. He shook away his thoughts. 

Vernon sauntered back over to Harry and tapped his thigh, beckoning Harry to begin again.  
Letting out a sigh, Harry carefully pulled down his uncle’s pants and came face to face with a bulge in his underwear. He gulped and started shaking. Vernon had apparently lost his patience as he pulled his engorged member out and placed it near Harry’s lips.

Harry could smell it. His uncle was far bigger than he had thought, and he saw the veins and tuft of hair running along the top. His uncle seemed so sweaty and big. So so big...Harry couldn’t do this. 

“Well boy?” Vernon yelled at Harry. Harry looked up at Vernon and opened his mouth to make a last-ditch effort to protest but Vernon used it as an opportunity to shove his gaping member into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry gagged and sputtered, and he felt his teeth scrap along the top. “NO teeth boy or I’ll remove them myself” snarled Vernon. 

Harry tried to push against his uncle’s thighs to get free, but Vernon grabbed his belt from the bed and looped Harry’s hands through, effectively keeping him in place. 

“You’re going to take it like a good boy” he heard Vernon say, before face-fucking Harry’s throat. Tears streamed down Harry’s face. He felt like his throat was burning and he could hardly breathe with that big cock ramming in and out of his mouth. 

Vernon’s thrusts became faster and faster, until he felt his uncle stiffen and let out a moan, spewing his load into his nephew’s throat. Harry sputtered and ended up coughing most of it onto the floor, dry-heaving on all fours.

Vernon tousled his hair almost affectionately. “Won’t make you swallow it all on the first try boy but remember next time I won’t be as lenient”. 

He left Harry’s wrists bound together with his belt before re-buttoning himself and walking back over to the floorboards. Bending down, he examined the floor closely before nodding his head at something.

Harry started to panic. “Sir what are you doing?” He tried to crawl over to where Vernon was but Vernon pushed him back onto his bottom without so much as a spare glance. 

Still examining the wood beneath him, Vernon stroked his chin and muttered something to himself. “Sir” Harry tried again. “Sir please” he pleaded. 

Vernon ignored him, and tapped lightly over the very spot where Harry’s secret stash was stored.  
Vernon lifted up the floorboard gently, and started laughing when he saw the contents within.  
Cards, bits of cake, muffins, pies and gifts from his friends lay tucked away.  
Vernon took each item out, one by one, holding them up to Harry with a triumphant grin while all Harry could do was watch dumbfoundedly.

“What are you going to do” Harry asked in a low monotone, hating the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
“Glad you asked” Vernon said gleefully.  
“We’re going to continue your punishment until you go back to school. Twice everyday sounds feasible, does it not?” 

Harry slowly nodded, unsure of what response his uncle was looking for.

“You’re going to beg me for it, and then thank me for punishing you. And do you know why?” Vernon taunted.

Harry knew the answer to this one all too well. “Because I’m worthless. Abnormal. Freak”/

“All too right you are!” Vernon slapped his cheek playfully. “Now thank me for it. Thank me for punishing you. You know you deserved it”.

Harry looked at his uncle’s shoes. “Thank you sir”.

“For..?”

“For using the belt and making me suck your...your cock”. Harry felt his cheeks heating up.

Vernon seemed to take that as a good answer, because he nodded and reached towards Harry’s wrists to unbind him.

Harry rubbed his wrists and murmured a thanks before his uncle turned his attention back to the secret compartment and started piling up its contents. “Won’t tell dear Petunia about these now will we?” Vernon winked at Harry. No doubt Vernon would save them for himself, to survive Petunia’s measly diet she made them suffer through.

“Off I go then. Do behave Harry. We don’t want to add to your punishments now will we?”

“No sir” Harry whispered.

“Ten more days Harry. Ten more days”.

Harry gulped. What a long ten days it was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry... I rewrote this chapter because I wasn't happy with the results.  
> Lost of feels for Harry on this chapter.  
> Obviously I do not condone this in real life, and do not own the Harry Potter series, J.K Rowling does! 
> 
> Side note, I just saw Avenger's Infinity War (I'm late I know) and am now fantasizing about potential ideas for a cross-over fic....ahh the possibilities! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, more coming and transitioning over into Snape and Harry.  
> Besos!


	5. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi Lovelies! 
> 
> This ch is mainly just transitioning from the Dursleys to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm following/not following the 5th book ...taking some things but also following this story's own timeline.
> 
> Sorry for the delay! New ch posting tomorrow. Please R&R.
> 
> Thank you! Besos

School could not come quick enough for Harry.

He’d had quite enough of doing demeaning tasks at the behest of his prunish Aunt, and quite enough of the things he was made to do at the hands of his uncle. Dudley, surprisingly, had been less of a nuisance the last two weeks.

He had been more quiet, less likely to shove Harry’s head down in the hallways, and you could hardly hear him complain about his meals. It was a mystery Harry did not care on solving.

The last two weeks his mind and body had been on autopilot. Painful memories were shoved to the back of his mind, locked and guarded for Harry’s own sanity.

But one message was too ingrained in him to have any hope of being erased: _Worthless. Abnormal. Freak._

These three words drove into the back of Harry’s skull, etched into his mind and heart as a reminder that he was in fact worthless. He had failed to protect Cedric, had he not? He had failed to stop Voldemort, failed Dumbledore, and was nothing but an unwanted nuisance to the Dursleys. When it came down to it, Harry had no doubt in his mind as to his lack of worth.

As to his freakishness, well that had been drilled into his head for so many years that it had become sort of a second name to him. But then again, this summer had not been like most summers spent with the Dursleys.

For one thing...there was Vernon.

For another...Vernon.

He had been made to watch Vernon devour his supply of sweets thoughtfully sent over from his friends.

Worst of all, all of Harry’s letters were written in the presence of Vernon, which was hardly better than writing no letters at all. Harry’s last letter to Ron had read :

**Ron,**

**Everything fine here. Pig had a long journey; spending the night.**

**Looking forward to seeing you soon.**

                    _Harry_

Harry was sure that Ron would grow alarmed at his lack of a more detailed letter, but Ron’s response bore no indication of such worry and it almost disappointed Harry.

Again, thoughts of Worthless panged in the back of his mind. But here he was starting his fifth year at Hogwarts. He just had to survive the next two summers living with the Dursleys.

Harry was all too glad to leave them. His uncle had made sure he administered enough of his “punishments” to last Harry the rest of the year. Harry shuddered to think of the next summer. He didn’t know if he could survive another one of those.

Seeing Ron and Hermione at the train was almost enough to appease Harry’s unpleasant thoughts, at least long enough for him to enjoy the journey. But as prefects, they could only speak with him for a few moments before leaving him to fend for seats himself.

“How was your summer then?” Ron asked him, draping one arm lazily over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry flinched at the contact, then cleared his throat.

“You know…” he shrugged.

Ron nodded sympathetically.

“ S’alright mate. Sorry you couldn’t come to the burrow with us”.

Harry shrugged again, and gave Ron what he thought was a mollifying smile.

“You didn’t miss much you know” Ron added hastily, seeing the look on Hermione’s face.

“It’s true.” she chimed in.

“We hardly know anything more than you do at this point”.

Harry’s insides churned unpleasantly. “Right” he said.

Ron and Hermione exchanged furtive glances before Hermione timidly announced they had to make their way to the prefects section.

“See you later mate” Ron waved.

Hermione flashed him a quick grin before turning to go, which Harry tried to return but his heart was not in it. He had so been looking forward to sitting with his two best friends, chattering away about nothing and everything, watching Ron’s disappointment as he opened yet another Chocolate Frog card already in his collection, or hearing about Hermione’s “light” summer reading, and just feeling like he belonged.

He ended up sitting with Neville and Luna, but he didn’t mind much, even if he had to grit his teeth at the snide remarks passerby made. He blushed crimson when a beautiful Cho Chang made her way over into his car, but her timing could not have been worse, as a very distraught Neville had covered the entire train car in the oozing of his mimbletonius mimbletonia.

All in all, school began the same as it usually did, only less cheerful for Harry.

He tried to push away any unpleasant thoughts about his summer, and tried not to take it to heart when he saw Draco making rude comments about him from across the Great Hall.

There was lots of chatter about classes; whispers and gossip on new professors (who was this new DADA woman with that dreadful grimace of a smile and frilly bows?) and of course, it wouldn’t be Potions class if Harry was not publicly called out by Professor Snape.


	6. A Potions Mishap

“She’s a troll!” Ron exclaimed angrily after his first DADA class.

Hermione nodded sympathetically, but Harry was lost in his own head, trying to calm down the pounding of his heart and the ire that the toad of a woman had stirred up in him.

“Not everything can be learned from books!” Hermione chimed, earning a shocked look from Ron and Harry.

“Well it’s true” she added, a little taken aback at her own boldness at making such a statement.

Harry shook his head. He could still feel the anger swelling up inside of him, an anger that had been dormant in him these past few months spent at the Dursleys.

That woman. That troll of a woman.

Ron groaned. “Did they want to have us tortured? Double Potions next, this can’t be good”.

Hermione scoffed. “Maybe if you once tried to actually follow the directions written on the board”.

“You think I don’t try do you? You think I like failing in his class, that I do it on purpose?” Ron spluttered.

Harry grimaced inwardly. He put up with both of their incessant bickering all the way to the dungeons and even then, their anger with one another was still too fresh that Harry had to play mediator and sat in between them. Hermione and Ron stole dirty glances at each other throughout the entire lesson, and Harry could have sworn he heard Ron mutter more than once “Women” under his breath.

Harry rolled his eyes and could not help but feel relieved at the familiarity of the situation.

As much as he hated it when Ron and Hermione fought, it felt...normal, routine even. He relished in those routine moments, the ones that grounded him and tethered him to reality, even if just for a few moments.

It was easier when he was grounded, or at least served as a better alternative to drowning in his own morbid thoughts and memories.

No, this was much easier. This he could do.

He watched Hermione angrily crush beetles with the back of her knife with an amused expression.

Turning to Ron, it became almost comical to watch him clumsily chop up recipe ingredients, too engrossed in his own anger at Hermione to pay attention to the actual directions.

While Hermione’s potion was a pleasant Lavender that should be present at step number 7, Ron’s was a sickly yellow, and Harry’s was not much better. His amusement at his friends soon faded as he realized he was well on his way to botching up yet another potion, and on his very first lesson of the year.

He squinted up at the blackboard in frustration. He could hardly see through his frames anymore. He had tried telling Petunia more than once throughout the summer, and even before then, but it was useless. Petunia would rather eat her own tongue than buy Harry anything new.

No, when it came to Harry he knew where his worth lay in the Dursley household. Petunia had told him to be grateful he had any glasses at all, and he was, although much good it did him when it came to actually seeing things.

Did that say Beetle Juice or Boar’s Jaw? Honeyed Water or a Horned Slug?

And was that stir clockwise before or after adding in the Dandelion root?

He glimpsed half-heartedly at Hermione’s potion, but he knew that she was still too mad to help either of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Snape coming over to the Slytherin’s table, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would saunter over and find some degrading things to say about Harry’s general ineptitude and botched potion.

“Bdfkd Djfh Rotf” He heard Hermione’s muffled voice.

“What?” he asked stupidly, looking at her for clarification.

“ _Before_ the Dandelion Root” she whispered from the corner of her mouth waspishly. Clearly, she was not mad enough to altogether abandon Harry. He sighed in relief.

“Thanks a ton Hermione”.

She nodded tersely before resuming her potion, strands of her hair poking out from her ponytail messily. Snape must have finished with the Slytherins, or else he had been explicitly watching them, because he chose that moment to glide over to the trio’s table to sneer at Harry’s attempt at brewing whatever the damn assignment was.

“I thought I told you, Granger, to stop aiding your inept classmates. You just earned yourself ten points from Gryffindor”.

Hermione blushed profusely, angrily chopping her roots, but Harry sputtered in indignation.

“But that’s not fair Professor! How do you even know she was helping us, for all you know she could’ve been whispering about how greasy your hair is!”

A few classmates smirked appreciatively, but Snape blanched and leaned forward towards Harry maliciously.

“Another ten from Gryffindor, I think, for insolence. Shall I make it more?”

Snape’s piercing gaze fell on Ron, who looked halfway torn between smirking that Hermione had gotten herself into trouble, and muttering his indignation at his friends being picked on.

Harry’s stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought of further punishment. What had the Dursley’s done to him? Was he so well-trained that even his body betrayed his thoughts?

He settled for an angry glare towards his Professor, but he found he could not keep his Professor’s icy gaze and lowered his eyes to his cutting board. Professor Snape lurked around a few moments more to call attention to some fault or other with Harry’s cutting or Ron’s clumsiness, actually causing Ron to drop his cutting board to the floor and sent him to retrieve fresh ingredients.

“Another five points from Gryffindor for wastefulness” Snape snidely remarked, before returning to the front of the room.

Harry’s heart sank. One class and they had already lost 25 points. In DADA class, he had already earned himself a detention. Somehow, this did not seem like a fortuitous beginning to his fifth year. He tried to shake away any negative feelings, and focused on his small cutting movements on the board.

Breathe in, and out. In, and out.

 _You’re doing fine_ he told himself.

_Stop worrying._

Flashes of Dudley’s taunting and Uncle Vernon unwillingly danced across his mind.

_Worthless. Freak._

Images of his Uncle towering over him, bellowing about how he could never do anything right. Hands on his belt, moving towards a cowering Harry in the corner. He spilled too much Beetlejuice into his cauldron, which hissed unpleasantly. An odor that could only be described as sour eggs wafted from the sickly fumes and he sighed.

Looks like he’d be starting with another zero. Snape would be pleased.

Indeed he was. Snape nodded with grim satisfaction as he saw Ron and Harry bottle samples of their horrid versions of whatever today’s potion was.

What was today’s potion?

Harry wish he had paid more attention when Snape was speaking, but whenever that man opened his mouth all Harry could think about was how much he’d like to poke that man in the eye.

Even Hermione left class feeling a little put-out, probably upset at how many potions she had lost, which would no doubt only fuel the anger she felt towards Ron for the rest of the day.

Harry shook his head. It looked like it would be a silent lunch and dinner today.

He gingerly placed his potions tube onto Professor Snape’s desk before turning to his friends to go.

“Potter, come here”. He was stopped by Snape’s cold voice.

He tensed, and berated himself for letting the man get to him so easily. Turning around, he asked as politely as he could “Yes Professor?”

“What is this?” Snape’s voice had turned to a deadly whisper, and Harry could feel himself squirming under the man’s gaze.

“That would be my potion, sir” Snape smiled, but it did not meet his eyes.

No, it was the sort of smile that Harry instinctively knew meant he was getting more than 10 points off of Gryffindor.

“And what, pray tell, is in that empty head of yours?”

Harry had the grace to look confused.

He could hear Ron and Hermione hanging behind him conflicted as to whether they should remain behind or scurry off. Snape seemed to read their minds because he commented drily

“I assure you, Potter is quite old enough to be left on his own for a few moments”.

Hermione blushed and scampered off but Ron stood his ground for a moment longer before sighing and turning to go, leaving Harry alone with a man who seemed to hate him with every fiber of his being. He seemed to love making life difficult for him, and if Harry was being honest with himself, that man could get to him. Already he could feel himself going back into Dursley survival mode as he shifted uneasily under Professor Snape’s icy glare.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Harry couldn’t meet Snape’s eyes. He did not want to see the intense dislike burning behind those black irises; he could already feel it boring into him.

He settled for watching a small spider that was daintily climbing onto Snape’s desk. He watched it move towards the potions...now and then stopping to reassess its surroundings before a white palm smacked down onto the table effectively splattering the small creature. Harry jumped. He had not been expecting that. He carefully raised his eyes to meet his Professor’s, but did not see anything in them that he did not already know.

“Potter, your stupidity astounds me”. Harry’s heart beat painfully in his chest.

This man was not Dursley. This man was not Dursley. He reminded himself over and over again in his head.

“Sir?”

“What was today’s assignment?”

“Today’s assignment?” Harry repeated confusedly.

“Yes Potter, today’s assignment. Are you stupid and deaf today?” Snape remarked exasperated.

“Erm…”

Harry stole a glance at the board, squinting to try to make out some of the letters marked at the top.

_A-O...no, that was definitely a G...A-G-could that be an E?_

“Age potion sir?” Harry tried.

Snape’s expression was neutrally blank.

“An age potion” he repeated softly.

“Yes sir” Harry couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

He closed his eyes and breathed out softly. He was **not** Dursley.

“Close enough.”

Harry opened his eyes in disbelief. Snape was giving him a calculating look before resuming.

“Today’s assignment was indeed something along the lines of an, as you so graciously put it, ‘age potion’”.

He walked over towards Harry carrying his Potion vial in his hand.

“Which is why it astounds me that you have created a Forgetfulness Potion instead”.

A Forgetfulness Potion? There was no way Harry could have ever brewed that had it actually been his intention.

“Erm..”

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. He felt partially proud of himself to have at least brewed something correctly, even if it wasn’t technically the assignment. Snape smirked at the confused look on Harry’s face.

“You sure you didn’t take some of this yourself?” he commented, looking delightfully pleased with himself.

“No sir.” Harry answered.

He wasn’t sure if it even required an answer, but better play it on the safe side. The sooner this encounter ended the better. Snape straightened himself and walked back to his desk.

“You will clean up this entire room before you can proceed to lunch”.

“But sir!” Harry cried out indignantly.

“One more word Potter, and you’ll find yourself with a week’s worth of detentions for backtalk”.

Harry swallowed back the rude comment he so desperately wanted to yell at the man. He threw down his bag, but upon seeing the look on his Professor’s face thought better of it and cautiously placed his bag on one of the desks before rolling up his sleeves to work. Peering over at his own table, he saw the clear difference between Hermione’s section and his own.

While Hermione’s section was clean, pristine even, not showing one crumb or stray potion ingredient, his looked like a troll had just finished his lunch. Even worse was Ron’s, as he discovered Ron had not only forgotten to clear away some of his potion ingredients but he had even left half of his brew simmering away in the Cauldron. He wanted to kill Ron. More work for him. Woe betide him once he got to Neville’s section- he could not even imagine what he would find there.

Muttering angrily to himself, he started scrubbing away stains of Beetlejuice and the slime from his slugs. He was so absorbed in his own anger and resentment towards his Professor that he did not notice his scrubbing was rocking the table, causing the contents of Ron’s cauldron to splash around.

A bit hit his arm, stinging him and causing his eyes to water.

He bit his lip and tried to resume his scrubbing more slowly this time. As he reached closer to Ron’s part of the table, his elbows knocked over half-crushed beetles sending them falling onto the floor.

Groaning and sighing inwardly, he doubted he would make it to his next class, much less his lunch, in time. His stomach growled at him.

Crawling under the table, he marveled at just how many potion ingredients he found down here. Just how angrily was Ron chopping his materials today?

He was carefully placing the beetle remains onto his palms when he was surprised by Snape’s voice above him.

Jumping up in surprise, he thumped his head painfully against the table and peered up just in time to see Snape angrily above him with a potion vial in one hand.

He saw his expression of anger morph into one of surprise as Ron’s cauldron teetered and tottered above him, before tipping over and splattering all over Professor Snape’s robes and down onto Harry’s head.

The last thing Harry heard was Snape’s cry of surprise and pain before his world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! Sorry for the late update...please let me know what you think!  
> What do you think is going to happen to Snape and Harry :O 
> 
> Trying to keep Snape as in character as possible.  
> Reviews are, of course, much appreciated
> 
> besos!


	7. Call Me Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh my formatting on this one is a bit weird. I think in trying to space things out to make it easier for the reader, I'm making it too spacey? Let me know. 
> 
> Also, I really really REALLY find it difficult trying to medieval-sounding dialogue, so please take that into account when you read along :O 
> 
> In terms of the actual potions mishap, what I decided to do is combine the forgetfulness potion with a variant (Ron’s concoction) of the age potion. Since a few drops from the vial in Snape’s hand (Harry’s potion) fell on Harry’s head, he’s the one who can’t remember the most recent events, reverting back into Dursley mode, effectively. Ackk! 
> 
> Hope that makes sense 
> 
> Thank you guys for your comments, I love reading them <3<3 
> 
> I'd love to hear any comments/remarks/suggestions, and of course, enjoy! 
> 
> #wandlessharry  
> I own nothing *J.K Rowling does * 
> 
> Besos

The first thing Harry realized when he came to was that he could no longer see, nor could he seem to feel his limbs or torso. Panic coursed through him like an electric bolt. 

Ah, wait…  _ there _ it was. He twitched his fingers, scrunching up his face in concentration. 

 

He felt crumbly earth below him, catching under his fingernails. But why…? Harry blearily opened his eyes, blinking furiously as his eyes adjusted to the light. He winced as he felt a sharp pain in the front of his head. 

 

Snape stood above him, silently casting spells at the air around him, frowning. He took no notice of Harry, only occasionally murmuring something or shaking his head.

 

Harry watched him for a few moments in fascination. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his Professor more tense. But why? Foggy memories circled around him, but he could not make sense of anything; it was all too blurry. 

 

The last thing he remembered was being at home, waiting for the Dursleys to come home for dinner. He shuddered at the memory of his last punishment with his Uncle, hovering over him with a gleam in his eye and belt in hand... 

 

Harry looked up at Snape and then glanced around uncertainly **.**

 

The road beneath him seemed to be nothing more than a dirt road, with rocks and pebbles littering the ground. The air seemed...crisper somehow. He took a deep breath and almost sputtered. Alright, not  _ too  _ crisp. He seemed to smell some sort of animal amidst a plethora of sweat and other odors infiltrating his nostrils.

 

There was one thing for certain; he was no longer in Little Whinging. 

 

From a distance Harry could make out shambles of some houses. He scrunched up his eyes, trying to see what lay ahead on the road, but everything was too blurry. These glasses were hardly better than nothing at all, he thought bitterly.

  
He shook his head. No, none of this made sense. Where were the Dursleys? 

 

What exactly had happened? 

 

Maybe Uncle Vernon had hit him one too many times across the head. 

Harry sighed in relief. That was it. 

 

He was either dreaming, or in some sort of coma from whatever demeaning task his uncle had put him through.

 

Not that he didn’t deserve it, he reminded himself. 

 

No, Uncle Vernon made sure to remind Harry just how much he deserved everything he had coming to him.

 

Harry stole a shy glance up at his Professor. The question was, if he was dreaming, or in some sort of coma, why dream up this man? 

Harry blanched. Perhaps this was a nightmare. 

 

Sitting upright, he called out to the man, who was too absorbed in his own thoughts and spell casting to hear him. 

 

“Professor?” Harry tried again. 

 

No response. Either Snape was very good at pretending or really,  _ really _ deaf. 

 

“Sir?” Harry called out a little louder. That seemed to reach the man, because he startled and spun around, turning his beady eyes on the boy below him. 

 

Harry found himself shrinking away from the man’s glare. 

 

“Erm..what are we...why are...where?” he trailed off lamely, trying to formulate a coherent question but finding that he had too many. 

 

His stomach clenched in horror as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. If this wasn’t a nightmare, which he still was quite sure it was, then had this man taken from the Dursleys? He widened his eyes at the possible implications. 

 

Had the man.. _.seen _ anything? Been witness to Harry’s treatment at the hands of his relatives? Moreover, was he here to save him, or just continue the Dursley’s regiment with a more profound gusto? 

 

Snape seemed to watch him with half amusement, half irritation. 

 

“You seem confused” he started. 

Harry just blinked at him blankly before looking back at the ground. 

 

“Maybe this will clear things up for you. Thanks to your stupidity we are now trapped in another time period altogether” 

 

Harry’s mouth dropped open in confusion. 

“What?” 

 

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

 

“Tell me the last thing you remember”.

 

Harry tried to remember, he really did. But everything was so foggy. “Er, I don’t really know sir. I think I was, making dinner?”. 

 

“Making dinner” Snape deadpanned. 

 

Harry gulped nervously at his tone. “Yes sir. I was at the Dursleys’ home.” 

 

If Snape noted the very purposeful reference to the house as the  _ Dursley's _ home, he said nothing of it.

 

Snape nodded wisely. “I thought as much. Leave it up to you to make the mistake of the century and not even remember it”. 

 

His tone seemed bitter but his eyes somehow softened as Harry’s face paled. 

 

“Let me then clear some things up for you. You were not, in fact, with your relatives but in class with me. As usual, you found a way to mess up the  _ simplest _ of potions-” Snape gave Harry a meaningful look- “and when facing your well-deserved punishment-” Harry shuddered- “you somehow managed to make yet  _ another _ mistake and here we are”. 

 

“But, where are we, exactly?” 

 

“ _ That _ , you will find, is the question I have been asking myself. But if I am correct, we are somewhere in the medieval era, most likely in England...” Snape trailed off thoughtfully, looking around. 

 

“Medieval era? How?” Harry asked incredulously.

 

Harry saw a slight rose-ish tinge rise to Snape’s cheeks as he cleared his throat to respond. 

 

“The way the potions interacted, I believe it deemed me as the spell caster.”

 

“So it transported us to the medieval era because you were the caster? Sir?” Harry tacked on for good measure, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

 

“Not exactly” Snape responded drily. 

 

“My thoughts may have been centered on the glories of medieval discipline”.  He cast another meaningful look at Harry, who blushed. 

 

So it was indirectly Harry’s fault then. Realization dawned on him. 

 

But…

 

“Sir, why can’t I remember any of this then?”

 

Snape looked at him before answering. “As I told you before, it is thanks to  _ your _ dreadful brewing that we are here in the first place.” 

 

Harry looked away, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.  He always found a way to botch things up, didn’t he? 

His thoughts were disrupted at the sound of hooves reached his ears.

 

“Come behind me” Snape demanded, and Harry quickly scrambled up the hide behind the man. 

 

“Oh for God’s sake hurry up!” he yelled, as Harry tripped over his robes. 

 

He could barely make out a brown horse carrying a strong-looking rider, steadily approaching them. 

 

“Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll be fine” Snape mouthed, preparing himself for his encounter with the stranger. Hastily stuffing his wand into his pocket, he started walking towards the rider with Harry lagging behind him nervously. 

 

The man on the horse was clad in fine livery, yet clearly bearing the marks of time and use. His course beard and small beady eyes gave the impression of a vagabond, but his countenance, though wary, seemed friendly enough. 

 

“Good morrow!” he squinted at the pair below him. 

Snape hesitated briefly before grunting a response. 

 

Upon noticing Snape’s conspicuous accent, the man countered, “Where doth thou hail from, friend? I confess your accent to be quite foreign to mine humble ears”

 

Snape nodded as if anticipating his remark. Pausing briefly to glance at Harry, he smiled apologetically to the man. 

“My servant and I” with a nod towards Harry, “hail from Spain”. 

 

The stranger whistled. “Heard tales o’ its beauty; though I’ve ne’er been”

 

He was clearly eyeing the pair with some calculating interest. Harry ruffled behind Snape in an attempt to hide himself from the stranger’s watchful eyes. 

 

“Lodgings, dost thou seek?” the man asked curiously, licking his lips. 

 

Snape put one hand on Harry’s back reassuringly as he felt the boy nervously fidget behind him. 

Nodding his head in assent, he ventured to ask the closest route to a warm meal and bed. 

 

“Can’t be more than an hour’s journey, that is”. The man replied, pointing to the road he had just come from.

 

“I prithee, if thou doth wish to sell thy servant, the lad’ll fetch a good price”. The strangers eyes turned greedy as he beckoned Harry closer with one hand. 

 

“I shall bear that in mind” Snape commented drily, before giving his thanks and walking off hastily with Harry. 

 

The stranger on the horse made no comment other than sparing a strange look back at them before heading off in the opposite direction. 

 

When they were far away enough to be out of earshot, Harry asked the question that was burning in his mind. 

 

“Professor, sir, so I’m your-- ?” 

 

“Servant Potter, yes” Snape couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. 

 

“And playing such a role, though a role it may be, I expect complete obedience.” 

He stopped walking to turn and meet Harry’s eyes. 

 

“I mean it Potter. I am telling you this for your benefit. The quicker we find a way back home the better. In the meantime, I expect you to make things as smooth as possible for me. Do I make myself clear?” 

 

His tone, although laced with his usual contemptuous manner, was spoken with unusual softness. 

 

He willed Harry to understand the implications of their positions and his sincerity to see them through this. 

 

“No matter what idiocracy may have brought us here, I mean to bring us back” Snape continued, with another meaningful look at Harry. 

 

Harry found himself brimming with so many questions but kept silent. He did not wish to irritate the man any more than he had to. 

 

Instead he found himself wistfully glancing at his Professor, opening his mouth only to shut it a moment later, giving himself the appearance of a wanton frog or a fish gasping for air. 

 

Snape glanced at Harry and rolled his eyes. 

“Out with it then” 

 

“Sir, does that mean...what will we do then?” 

 

“It means you will listen to me instead of running off and getting yourself into the trouble I so often find you in.”

 

Another biting remark from his Professor. He could tell the man was already losing patience, and he tried to tailor his next question as delicately as possible. 

 

“Do you have a plan then, sir?” 

 

Snape could have laughed at the bluntness of the question. 

“What a silly thing to ask." No other comment was made and they continued walking in silence. 

 

Harry found himself absentmindedly reaching into his pocket to reach for his wand, which he often twirled around whenever he was bored or anxious.  Feeling nothing but empty pockets, he gasped  "My wand!" 

 

Snape turned back alarmed. "When did you have it last?"

"Well I wouldn't remember that now would I?" Harry snapped. 

 

He can't believe he didn't have his wand. Without magic, he was nothing. He couldn't, how could he survive being with Snape without magic? 

"Quit moping, we'll go back and look for it. I'm sure it was left in the classroom; you'll just have to make do".

 

"Easy for you to say" Harry muttered, quite angry and fearful at being separated from his faithful companion. 

 

You know, I believe a _ quiet _ servant to be altogether more agreeable, wouldn’t you agree?” 

 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, before frowning, and looking away hurt. 

 

In a gesture of kindness which surprised even Snape, he patted the boy’s head awkwardly before resuming. 

 

“I also must insist on you fitting into your role. I can’t have you slip and calling me Professor, much less by my name."

 

"Then what do I call you?" Harry asked, confused. 

 

Snape paused before answering, but there was no mistaking the glint behind his eyes that clearly indicated he was enjoying himself on some level. 

"I believe, taking into account the era we find ourselves in, master would be suitable”.

 

“Er, right” Harry nodded doubtfully. 

 

At Snape’s raised eyebrows Harry blushed as he whispered “Erm, I mean...master?”.

Snape nodded. "You'll get used to it. Now come". 

  
  
  



	8. The Tavern

They were fortunate enough to find shelter at a rundown tavern in the heart of the town. The town itself was remarkable for two things: the amount of people crammed inside its walls, and the amount of exotic travelers passing through, making Snape and Harry’s presence there less distinct. As master and servant, they were made to share one room, with a straw bed against the back wall and a sturdy wooden desk on the other end. A small chest at the foot of the bed was the only place to store any valuables, and also served as a makeshift bed for Harry the past few nights.

Every morning, Harry was made to fetch Snape breakfast from the bar down below. The residents of the tavern were constantly changing, as it played host to many travelers passing through. At night the bar on the first floor was packed with men, and a few select women, of all ages, downing pints of ale, voraciously gambling or fighting each other in their drunken stupor. Harry found his job was easy enough to manage. He was directed on the first day to go directly to the barkeep to request food and sustenance for his master, for a small fee. 

Harry was usually made to exchange his services for the meals provided to them, as Snape was careful not to pass many coins he had enchanted to look like the current currency lest they attract unwanted attention. His work often delayed his presence back in his master’s chambers, but the man did not seemed to mind. In fact, Snape took great satisfaction in knowing Harry was finally being “put to work”, telling the barkeep to not hesitate to call upon Harry for anything. 

No matter how often he had said it over the past few days, it still was not easy for Harry to call that man ‘master’. He hated the look of grim satisfaction on the man’s face as he lowered his head and presented his food. Snape had told him on the first day that it was better to bring up his food, to spare him from a more servile routine if they were dining in public. 

That morning started out no different than the last three. Harry woke up groggily from his makeshift bed, glancing up to ascertain if Snape was still asleep. Having only the one change of clothes, he had been sleeping in the nude, with only a rough woolen blanket to preserve his dignity. Apparently Snape had no qualms about his appearance, as he often took to throwing off the blankets at some point in the night, leaving Harry with a very vivid picture of the man’s body as he woke up each morning. 

Harry stole another look at the man snoring softly on the bed. It was hard to think how accustomed he had become to serving this man, despite his own hesitations to call him master. He was used to this, at least. The routine was easy enough, and the barkeep was not so vicious as to take advantage of the boy’s help down below. 

He wondered how far Snape had gotten in his plans to restore them back to their own timeline. He didn’t like questioning the man; it seemed to make him angry and he shuddered to think of what an irritable Snape might do to a boy completely at his mercy. No, better to keep his head down and play his role well. It was easy enough. He had been playing this role for a while now, living with the Dursleys, until it had almost become a part of him.

Sighing, he changed into his black pants and white shirt. He had to speak to Snape about getting less conspicuous clothes. The fact that they were travelers did not prevent curious eyes from wandering to the zipper and embroidered emblem on Harry’s sweater. These were much too modern, but the last time Harry had brought it up, Snape had merely raised his brows and asked him if it was more preferable to go in the nude in the meantime. 

Downstairs was busy; a stark contrast to the silent room he had just left. The baker was chasing after a boy with a wooden spoon because he had forgotten to pick up the sack of flour from the mill. A few groggy residents sat at tables, glumly staring at their bowls of cold porridge. Harry made his way over to the barkeep, stopping short as he saw the expression on the man’s face. The man looked murderous, muttering to himself angrily as he ran a dirty rag over the counter. 

“Hello sir” Harry whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. The man looked up abruptly, smiling as he saw Harry. “Ayy, good morrow young lad. Good thing yer here, m’boy is late today”. Grumbling to himself about “naughty children”, he threw the rag at Harry and pointed to the dusty wooden and leather mugs lining the shelves. 

The barkeep then walked to a barrel and poured himself a generous serving of beer, downing the entire thing in one go and emitting a loud belch. “Now to find that lazy son o’mine” he muttered, walking outside. Harry shook his head. The barkeep’s son, Everard, tended to help out in the tavern in the mornings, or on busy nights, but Harry knew for a fact that last night the boy had drunk himself into a stupor and left with a rosy-cheeked girl giggling profusely. 

Times hadn’t changed much, Harry thought to himself, thinking of the way Hogwarts students liked to sneak firewhiskey and make out in isolated corridors. Harry rolled up his sleeves and set himself to work. Occasionally he lifted his head his head to peer at the door, curious to see any newcomers stopping by for a pint or taking a brief respite from the outdoors. 

One man in particular, came in every day like clockwork, accompanied by a boy no older than Harry. The man often sat by himself in the far corner, waspishly barking orders to the boy to retrieve this or that for him. The boy would flinch violently any time the man lifted his hand or touched him, and was quick to comply with any order. It was not difficult to see the boy was mistreated. You could often see the scars peeking through the holes in the boy’s coarse shirt, but no one seemed to pay him any mind as he walked through, shrinking in on himself so as to make himself appear as small as possible. 

Harry had struck up a friendship with the boy right away. His name was Peter, and although he couldn’t tell you what age he was, he was smart and was far more kind towards his master than the man deserved. Whenever Harry tried to bring up his unjust treatment of Peter, the boy would hold up his hand and shake his head. “I beg thee, not to speak ill of my master. You know not who he is”. 

_ But I know what he is- a real jerk.  _  Harry would think to himself, pitying the boy for his ignorance. 

Peter arrived with his master shortly after the barkeep left that morning. Peter flashed him a quick smile before running to fetch some porridge and ale for his master. Once he finished with the mugs, Harry started sweeping the floor; the splintery sticks out wood jutting out at the bottom and occasionally falling off. He was relieved when his master’s meal was ready. Grabbing a pewter tray, he lined everything carefully and slowly made his way up the stairs. 

Snape was already awake when he knocked on the door softly. 

“Come in” the man drawled. He was sitting upright in bed with his shirt on, his pants lying out next to him and his boots on the floor. He wiped his eyes before blearily looking at Harry. “You should have woken me. I slept far too much today”. Harry lowered his head and carefully placed the tray on the man’s lap. “Sorry sir-er master. I was busy downstairs”. Snape scoffed. “Busy. More like easily distracted, I presume. Did you talk to that boy again today?” 

Harry nodded hesitantly. He  _ had _ spoken to the boy, but it was just a passing hello. “Well, yes but--”. “No buts” Snape cut him off angrily. “You should know better than to slack on your duties”. Harry sighed, clenching his fists in frustration. He had  _ not _ been slacking off. “Yes master” he muttered, staring angrily at the floor. Snape looked at Harry before nodding to himself. “Today I will seek other lodgings. We need to call a place our own; perhaps an apothecary. That way I’ll be able to brew ourselves out of here before  _ you _ mess it up”. 

That was unfair. Harry had done nothing but keep his head down- and his friendship with Peter was not going to get in the way of that. “Yes master” he grumbled again. He found himself eager to get out of the man’s presence. He liked it far better when he could clean peacefully downstairs, away from the judging eyes and harsh criticisms of his master. Of his  _ Professor _ , he corrected himself. This was the man who had displayed a blatant dislike of him since their first meeting. He bit his lip, remembering his very first Potions class. Snape was right. The sooner they found their way back the better. Harry sighed again. Perhaps finding an apothecary was the best option. 

“Master?” he asked shyly. He had an idea, but he didn’t know how the man would take it. Snape grunted, too busy stuffing his mouth with the lumpy gruel. Harry’s stomach grumbled; he was ravenous. In his haste to bring the man his food, he had forgotten to grab some for himself. “Erm, I heard a man, downstairs, talking about a place for sale. It’s not an apothecary but, I’m sure you can turn it into one, if you buy it”. 

Snape nodded. “Thank you Potter. Point him out tonight and I shall ask him myself.” Harry let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He nodded happily. The man, which he wisely left out, was Peter’s master. Geoffrey Brenton, or Brentley...he couldn’t remember exactly. But if it meant fattening the man’s purse, perhaps it would assuage his mood and subsequently have a positive effect on how he treated Peter. A happy man did not beat his servants, right? 

Harry happily went down below to resume his morning duties, the empty bowl clattering on the tray in his arms. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to the apothecary! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy.   
> Check out this image by estherliquid http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/snarry/images/26219686/title/snape-harry-snarry-photo
> 
> Thanks to the great J.K Rowling who created these characters and the marvelous Harry Potter universe! 
> 
> And of course, thank you lovely readers. As usual, reviews/comments/constructive criticisms always welcomed. 
> 
> Besos


	9. The Crooked Nose Knave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets into some trouble with an angry Everard, and strengthens his friendship with Peter. Unfortunately for him Snape is as grumpy as ever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! 
> 
> Haven't gotten the chance to post it but I've been meaning to for the past few days so here it is.
> 
> Let me know what you think, every comment and kudos is appreciated :)
> 
> I'm being very liberal with the way I am writing their medieval dialogue
> 
> As always,  
> Besos

Snape sighed. He was not in a good mood. He hadn’t been since he had gotten here, all thanks to that Potter. It was hard to remind himself not to hate the boy. The boy had everything- the fame, the legend and legacy of his parents, not to mention everyone who crossed paths with the boy seemed to love him. To the world Harry Potter could do no wrong. It made the man sick. 

 

He seemed to be the only one with enough sense to not mollycot the boy; he was spoiled enough as it was. In a way, this was good for the boy. Snape smirked as he thought back to their first day spent together. The image of Potter, stumbling over himself and blushing furiously as he asked what was expected of him. Expected of him indeed. If the two of them were indefinitely stuck here, the boy  _ would _ do something productive with himself, Snape would make sure of that. 

 

Still, he had to remind himself that this was his pupil. He was sure that the first thing the boy would do is run off to Dumbledore and spurt a sob story that would put Snape at odds yet  _ again  _ with his mentor. Dumbledore was blind when he came to Potter, and the brat fed right into it, getting away with absolutely everything. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose again. Sighing in frustration, he berated himself. 

 

Snape was an irritable man, he knew this much about himself. He had no illusions as to the quality of his character. He was not likeable. Snape was not surprised to see Potter’s blatant dislike of him etched on his face, but he was admittedly taken aback at how immediately servile the boy had become. Even in those small bursts of rebellion from , it was done with an air of trepidation, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.  _ The boy’s got survival instincts.  _ It didn’t help that Snape felt so irritated with himself; it made him irritated at the world. Much to his chagrin, he was not the slightest bit closer to bringing them back to their century than he was the day they arrived. 

 

For once in his life, the man was stumped. He had a few vague ideas, sure, and he was almost certain there was a potion that could get them out of this. After all it was a potion that had brought them here in the first place, laced with his own magic.  But Snape could not come up with a clear course of action. What he needed was an apothecary; a place to brew his potions and set his mind to work. He was sure once he was in the right environment the ideas would spring forth. Potions had never failed him before. If only he had the time and space to  _ think _ . Potter was wise to bring up the potential seller to him this morning. What was the man’s name? Bentley something? Brookley? No matter. Snape smirked at the thought of dinner tonight. It would be the boy’s first public demonstration of his service, and Snape was not going to take it easy on him. He wouldn’t be cruel of course, as the child  _ was _ his pupil, but a little getting back at the offspring of the detested James Potter would most definitely put a spring in his step. 

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

‘OI!” 

 

“OI”

 

Harry’s head snapped up as a gangly, snot-nosed boy raced up to him, out of breath and red-faced. 

 

“You the one that snitched on me then?” 

 

Harry’s stomach dropped as he saw Everard’s livid face. By the looks of it, he had received a fair thrashing from his father, if his limp was anything to judge it by. 

 

Harry was in the back of the tavern, feeding the pigs the slop that Everard was supposed to have given them this morning. “Erm..” Harry was at a loss of what to say. “No?” 

Of course he hadn’t. Everard had been so obvious about his actions last night that Harry was sure the entire tavern could have told the barkeep about his whereabouts. 

 

He looked at Everard’s lip, bleeding on the upper right corner. The boy looked hungover, steadying himself while trying to appear menacing. Harry paused, unsure of how to proceed. A part of him was already tensing his body for the blows he was sure would come. He could hear the alarm bells going off in his head, with images of his uncle bellowing at him and hearing the  _ whish _ and  _ crack _ of the leather belt. He shuddered. But this was a boy. This was different. He could handle this. 

 

“It was that bad huh?” 

 

Everard looked taken aback, scrunching up his face as if trying to decide how to take that commnet. His fists clenched and unclenched, and for a few moments he just stood there, staring with that stupid look on his face before sauntering over and grabbing Harry by the scruff of his shirt. 

 

“I Prithee silence yourself lest you dig your own grave” 

 

Harry squawked at him, not completely understanding the boy’s phrasing but definitely getting the gist and flinching back as a fist connected with his face. Harry threw himself backwards away from the boy and cupped his face. Pain shot up his nose and he felt something warm trickle down but nothing seemed to be broken. When he saw the boy coming back towards him Harry stumbled backwards, tripping over something on the ground in his haste to get away. 

 

“Bight...err I’b borry bud I didbmt bbay banyitng! Bbadbbe if bu beremb bo bubid bud belize-” 

Harry backtracked, seeing the boy’s eye twitch and his raised fists. 

 

“I’b borry!” 

He wondered vaguely what he was apologizing for. A part of him hummed in agreement, but deep down he knew better. 

 

_ Worthless, Abnormal… _

 

Those words called to him, a never-fading echo that had buried itself into his very being. He forcibly pushed those thoughts away, focusing instead on Everard’s face as he processed Harry’s apology. This boy was definitely still hungover, possibly still even drunk. He lowered his fists but kept the snarl on his face as he whispered to Harry “An eye for an eye”.

 

Harry scoffed. Clearly the boy wasn’t thinking straight. 

“Bai baster is cobming bor me ”. He tried to -unsuccessfully- keep the fear out of his voice, wincing as he heard himself falter. He kept a hand over his nose and tried to wipe away some of the blood.

 

He saw the boy glance over his shoulder warily. As if by blessed fate, a loud crash coming from inside made the both of them jump. It was then that Harry knew he was safe. Barkeep son though he may be, Everard was not about to cross paths with an angry master. 

 

“Anon then”. He pointed one dirty, bony finger at Harry and spared him one last glare before walking back into the tavern. 

 

Harry stood still, lost in his own thoughts before shuddering at how close he had come to yet another unearned thrashing.  _ You mean earned _ a pained voice spoke within him. He grunted and turned his attention to the pigs. 

 

A high voice came bounding from within the tavern, as a boy ran outside and collided with Harry. He fell to the ground in surprise, lifting both of his hands to cover his head in his shock.

 

“Harry, it’s me! It is I, Peter!” 

Peter’s voice was so high-pitched in his panic that he sounded like a shrill bird, calling out desperately to Harry.

 

Harry let out a confused mumble before realizing a hand was stretched out to greet him and help him back up.     

 

“Beder?” 

 

Peter nodded fervently. 

“It was I who made all the clamor. To send Everard away. Dost thou see? It was I!” 

Peter looked quite flustered. His face was flushed and his eyes shone with nervous excitement. It was clear the boy had never done this sort of thing before.

He looked almost as surprised about it as Harry did.

 

“mbanmks Beder” Harry flashed him a genuine smile before groaning. Touching his nose gingerly, he felt dry blood mixing with new, a slow but steady trickle down his chin. 

 

“I prithee, dost thou need help? That crooked nose knave! Alas, the wound is but superficial. Nothing is broke. Come, let us come inside” 

 

Harry felt a rush of affection for the boy who had so willingly come to his aid. 

 

He did not let his thoughts dwell on Everard, or the impending dinner, and let himself be led by the poor, younger than he was, back into the tavern.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

“Tell me about thy master” Peter asked Harry a few hours later, hugging his knees as he sat on the floor in an unused and dusty kitchen storeroom.

 

A blood-encrusted rag lay on the floor next to Harry. Peter had diligently washed the blood from Harry’s face, and dabbed a bit of ointment he had hidden for himself on those occasions when his master got carried away. Harry felt extremely grateful to his companion. 

 

“Not much to say” Harry shrugged, avoiding Peter’s eyes.

 

“Dost thou sleep with thy Lord?”

 

Harry blanched.

“NO! Why would you say that?”

 

Peter shrugged, looking unabashed. “It is not unheard of”.

 

“Well, that’s not what’s happening between Sn--my master and I” Harry sputtered, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Sleep? With Snape? Harry felt himself grow queasy at just the thought of it. He never wanted to sleep with any man or woman for as long as he lived. His summer with his uncle had made him more than certain that he never wanted any sort of intimacy with another being. It made him sick to his stomach. 

 

Peter shrugged again. 

“Upon occasion...my master partakes in it”. This time his voice was a whisper. Harry felt instant remorse at his tone with Peter. He had probably asked the question to try to normalize what he was going through. To know that someone else was going through the same as him. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.

 

Reaching for his hand, he firmly grasped it and tried to catch Peter’s eye.

“You are so strong. You know that right?”

 

Peter nodded, looking away and hastily withdrawing his hand from Harry’s. 

 

“What dost thou do for thy master then, if not his sexual bidding?” 

 

Harry paused to think. “I...well I’ve known him for the past few years. He’s never liked me. But I haven’t been--I’m not--I haven’t been his servant for long”.

 

Peter’s interest was immediately piqued. “How long hast thou been in thy lord’s service?”

 

Harry grappled with an answer. He wanted to tell Peter much, much more than he was able to tell, but he tried to settle on half-truths. 

 

“Not long at all. I had a ….previous...employer before. He was… not so nice”.

 

Peter nodded sympathetically. “Tell me about him”.

 

Harry inhaled sharply. This was not a conversation he was ready to discuss, much less with someone like Peter. 

 

“Just not nice. He didn’t treat me well. Master Snape is a better man in comparison”.

This much at least was true. While Snape may grumble and snap he was all bark and no bite. Still, Harry dreaded crossing the man. He did not want to give Snape any reason to use Harry as an outlet for his anger or irritation. 

 

“Dost thy lord hit thee?”

 

Harry wanted to laugh. Peter was looking over at him with such wide innocent eyes as he asked the most invasive questions. 

 

But he felt compelled to answer. This was not a response that was hard to give anyway.

“No, not yet anyway”. 

  
  


“Potter!” Snape hissed.

Harry visibly jumped as the man came bounding through the room. 

 

Snape was livid. He had been searching for the damn boy all afternoon, only to find him laughing away with that Peter. As negligent as ever, Snape thought bitterly, feeling a wave of anger directed towards Potter for making him worry. 

“Where were you?”

Blast decorum, this was no game that he and the boy were playing. He could have been seriously injured! 

Harry paled, and scurried up from his position on the floor next to Peter. 

“Master” he breathed, the color draining from his face. 

“Where. Have. You. Been” Snape grit out scathingly, his beady eyes piercing through Harry and making Harry fidget uncomfortably. 

 

Harry tried to make eye contact with the man, but as soon as he saw the intense loathing brimming through them he trained his eyes on the floor and felt himself begin to shake.

 

_ This man was not Dursley. This man was not Dursley. _

 

He willed his heart to stop its dreadful hammering, it felt as if it would impede from his chest.

Snape was mad, but he had to explain himself, he had to make it right to show the man that he was  _ not _ trying to shirk his duties, and he had  _ not _ forgotten about meeting Snape, it had simply slipped his mind--

 

“Well? Nothing to say?” 

 

Harry realized he had not actually verbalized any of this to the man, lost in his own panicky thoughts upon hearing his master’s-- Snape’s -- voice. 

 

  
“M’lord” piped Peter, gulping audibly.

“It be not thy servant’s fault. The blame lies with me M’lord. I humbly request your forgiveness.” He gave a low scraping bow, showing off his bony spine through the holes in his coarse shirt.

 

Snape looked at the boy with obvious dislike, scrunching up his nose as if having seen a rather hairy spider.

 

He focused back on Harry, squinting as he realized the boy did not look...right.

He grabbed Harry’s face in his hands, ignoring the wince and whimper from the latter as he brought his face inches away from his own.

 

“What happened?” he murmured softly. 

 

Harry winced again.

“M-master, I’m sorry”.

 

Harry felt panic swell through his chest.

 

_ This man was not Dursley. This man was not Dursley. _

 

Snape repeated his question again, his eyes boring through Harry.

 

Harry closed his eyes to shield himself from the man’s icy daggers. 

 

“I’m sorry Master” he whispered again.

 

Snape abruptly let go of him. Without so much as a glance towards the other boy, he dismissed him with a curt “Go”. 

 

Peter did not need to be told twice. With a nervous glance at Harry, he bounded off out of the storeroom. 

 

Harry felt tears well up, and he hastily wiped them away. He could not stop his trembling. Why was Snape so angry? He was silently looking down at Harry with a murderous look and it took all of Harry’s willpower to not go running through the door after Peter.

 

“Snape- M-Master Im I’m sorry sir. I’m s-sorry sir.” Harry hated himself for how weak he sounded.

What was happening to him? Why this panic attack? 

He tried to get his breathing under control. Snape was just looking for him. That was all. He was upset because he couldn’t find him. It was Harry’s fault but he could make it up to the man. He could show Snape that he knew how to play his role.

 

He spared a glance up at Snape but could not read the man’s expression. He let out a panicked laugh, worried that he had finally wound the man up so much and would finally feel his wrath.

 

He felt his body tensing and a part of him welcomed and acknowledged it. He had messed up. He had lost track of the time after the crazy event with Everard and he had shirked away from his duties. Snape was mad, and he had a right to be. Harry had to make this right. 

  
  


Getting to his knees, he bowed his head low and let out a whimper.

He could show Snape he knew how to behave, that he was remorseful. 

He couldn’t believe how stupid he was. How quickly he had gotten Snape mad. With no magic to defend himself. With no one here to stand up for him. Completely and utterly at this man’s mercy and what did he do? He went and got the man upset.

  
  


“It was my fault” he whispered.

 

Snape blinked, taken aback at Harry’s show of subservience.

Perhaps he thought he could guilt Snape into being the one to apologize, for letting himself be consumed with anger. Well Snape would not allow it.

 

“What. happened” he grit out in frustration.

 

But Harry would say no more. He kept his head bowed low and his hands close to his sides. His eyes were shut tight and he trembled beneath the man. He was waiting for the blows that would never come.

 

“Get up. Get up” Snape hissed, pulling Harry up to his feet.

“That’s enough from you. We’ll talk about this later”.

 

He pushed Harry towards the door. “It’s time for dinner. You’re supposed to be serving me”.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. The Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter (finally) posted.
> 
> SO sorry for the delay in posting new chapters...I haven't strayed away I swear!
> 
> As always, your comments are everything to me. 
> 
> Besos

Snape was uncharacteristically quiet while waiting for the man to arrive. As soon as he settled down in a corner of the tavern, he glared at Harry and bit out “You will follow the proper protocol while we are here. Is that understood?”

 

“Yes sir” Harry whispered. At Snape’s raised eyebrows he stammered “Master! I mean yes master!”. Snape gave him one last withering look before continuing.

 

“Get this through that thick head of yours. Make one mistake, just one, and you’ll be wishing you had never been born”. Harry shuddered. It sounded too much like something his uncle had said to him, years past. He stole a glance at Snape through his lashes, feeling a knot forming in his stomach as he saw his master’s face. Snape wasn’t mad, no, he was  _ livid.  _ Harry could only hope the man would have mercy. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He deserved anything that Snape felt fitting to impose on him. 

 

Harry felt a jolt of panic when the man they had been waiting for came bursting through the door, pushing a trembling Peter in front of him. Peter caught Harry’s eye and tilted his head, as if to ask after Harry’s well-being. Had he been punished? Peter was no doubt curious. Harry shook his head, catching Peter’s relieved exhale. 

 

He shuddered again at the thought of displeasing Snape any more tonight. There was no doubt he would have to pay for his earlier actions, and he did not want to give any further cause to punish him. He would be good. He could do this. 

 

“Which one is the Borgley man you spoke off?” Snape suddenly asked him, his piercing eyes scanning the crowd. “He has just walked in master” Harry nodded towards the large, brutish man sauntering in. He didn’t miss the way Snape’s eyes narrowed at Peter before sizing up his master. The man was an oaf. He had thick, curly red hair that covered a jutting chin, eyebrows the width of two fingers, and small beady eyes that glited back and forth. 

 

“You there” Snape beckoned the man, waving his arm in a friendly gesture. He saw the man’s eyes widen in surprise before catching sight of Harry. The man chuckled, a wide grin plastered on his face as he shoved Peter towards their table. 

 

Harry lowered his head demurely, not wishing to interact with the man anymore than he had too. He felt Snape’s hand press into his back, half warning, half guidance. Harry bowed low before the man, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. “My Lord” he breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. Would Snape forgive him for suggesting Peter’s master to make the deal? 

 

“A truly fine jewel thou hast acquired” the man spoke to Snape, eyeing Harry up and down greedily. “Thou has him working in the taverns like a common boy?” 

Snape smirked snidely. “He needs the manual labor. An idle servant is a troublesome one”. 

The man seemed to agree wholeheartedly. He leaned forward, approval shining clearly in his eyes. “I prithee, should thou require a lending hand, I’ll most readily partake in ensuring the boy refrains from...idleness”. There it was. That mischievous glint in his eye that so often made Harry shudder. Harry spared a panicked glance at Snape before training his eyes on the floor again. 

 

Snape pursed his lips. “I do not like to share what is mine. I’m sure you would agree”. He raised a glass towards Peter before taking a hearty gulp. The man had the grace to look flustered, unsure of how to take the comment, but his curiosity got the better of him. He barked a laugh, reaching over to slap Snape on the back as if joking with an old friend. 

 

“I like thee!” he commented jovially, waving one fat sausage of a finger at Snape. Snapping his fingers, he ordered Peter to bring him a drink, and further introduced himself to Snape. 

 

“Geoffrey Brenton, how may I be of service?”

 

Snape looked at the man thoughtfully. He seemed...hesitant.

“Perhaps a drink first wouldn’t be remiss?”

 

Brenton’s smile widened. “Aye, I knew I liked thee” he laughed, slamming a fist on the table. Harry flinched at the noise. Snape seemed to have momentarily forgotten his existence. Looking at Harry as if he had never properly seen him before, he paused. Then, without further preamble, he held up his empty pint and lazily dropped it on the floor. 

 

“Oops” he said, earning another hearty laugh from his new companion. Harry blushed crimson, dropping to the floor to retrieve his master’s cup. He started to stand back up when a strong hand pushed him back down. Snape looked down at him thoughtfully. “You know, I never tire of doing that”. 

 

Brenton cast a glance at Harry before smirking. A sharp tug on his hair pulled him back up. He winced at the painful contact, closing his eyes and feeling waves of panic crash over him.

 

A soft hand came to his cheek, patting it lightly. 

“He serves me well, don’t you?” 

Harry opened his eyes cautiously, focusing on his master’s feet on the floor.

“I try master” he whispered to the ground.

“You are too modest” Snape chided, before turning to Brenton. “Would you not call this a fine specimen?” Brenton nodded appreciatively. “Aye, I’m sure the lad’s a good lay”.

 

Snape nodded. “He keeps the bed warm. But I speak of other...talents. The boy has a sharp eye for herbs, do you not?” His eyes focused back on Harry, who looked back confused. Why would he...ah. He saw where Snape was going with this. 

 

Harry nodded vigorously, trying his best to look enthused and happy at his master’s praise. 

“I try master”. 

 

“Modest” Snape repeated. He snapped his fingers and pointed to his empty pint. Harry bent over to retrieve it, when Snape’s long fingers ghosted his backside, applying quick pressure to his behind before resuming. Harry blushed. Was the man trying to warn him? Was he reminding him that Snape had in no way forgotten about his punishment? 

 

Harry dutifully brought Snape’s empty cup to the barkeep, who hardly spared him a glance as he filled it up. Ale sloshed around, spilling on the counter. Nervously Harry peered around the room for signs of Everard. If the barkeep’s stony demeanor was anything to go by, Everard had yet again gone off and done something stupid. Harry felt something akin to pity for the man. He had yet to raise his fists to Harry and had been fairly decent to him since his arrival. This was not a man who deserved such a wayward son. 

 

By the time Harry returned to the table, bowing low and gently placing the cup before his master, Snape had already gone on to discussing his love of apothecaries and the more exotic ones he had come across during his travels. Harry had to admit; the man was good. He was throwing out lie after lie and Brenton was swallowing it down like a bubbly pint of ale. Every time Brenton’s eyes widened at another one of Snape’s tales Harry had to force himself to stop laughing. 

 

He tried to be good. He tried to keep his eyes trained on the floor and head bent low like he was supposed to. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the man. Brenton. The big bully. He saw how every so often Brenton would smack Peter and order him to bring more of this or that, or tell him off for being too slow, or too fast. He saw the way Peter would tremble beneath the man; not once daring to raise his eyes or speak back. 

 

It was almost too much for Harry. So when he got caught staring at the man, really he should have known. Servants didn’t just glare at people and look them in the eyes. Servants bowed low, said “Yes master” and “Thank you master” and did as they were told. So when Brenton remarked at the audacity Snape’s servant had to look a freeman in the eyes, and a high-ranking one at that, really Harry should have known better. 

 

But what he was not prepared for was Snape yanking him up by his collar, and thrusting him towards the man to apologize. He was not prepared to go on his knees and beg the Lord for forgiveness. He found himself doing it anyway.

 

Embarrassment burning within him, he lowered his eyes and felt them well up with tears. To be put in such a low position before this waste of a man was too much. Snape he could take. Snape, at least deep down, had Harry’s interests in mind. This man...this man raped his servants. He treated no one with respect. But Harry had to beg for  _ his _ forgiveness?

 

“P-Please forgive me, my Lord” he rasped out, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. 

But the man would not be so easily appeased. Grunting out, he motioned to Snape to correct his servant’s lack of respect. Harry did not dare to look up at Snape, but he heard the hesitant pause and felt a wave of gratitude towards Snape for not immediately jumping at the chance to further Harry’s humiliation. 

 

“Did you have something in mind?” Snape eventually asked the man with an unreadable expression. Brenton licked his lips, eyeing Harry with a predatory grin. 

 

“I find my servant doth learn from a lesson in humility”.

 

“Oh?” Snape asked, curiosity and something else indiscernible evident in his voice.

“Aye. Come here boy” Brenton beckoned Harry. Harry shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes now trained on the man’s boots. 

 

“Ever lick a man’s boots?” he heard Brenton asking him. “No my Lord” Harry heard himself whisper. He could feel rather than see the man’s grin above him. He pushed forward one of his boots as an invitation, watching to gage Snape’s reaction. When Snape said nothing, Brenton’s triumph was evident. Harry felt his face go aflame as he bent forward towards the man’s boots. 

  
  


Harry’s first reaction to the horrid taste was immediate aversion. He tried to pull his head back, sputtering as muddy grime reached his tongue, but a strong, steady arm yanked him back forward with a cruel laugh. Harry whimpered as his face was pushed down against the boot. He cautiously stuck out his tongue, the churning in his stomach warning him that there was only so much of this he could take.

 

“Master” he whispered pitifully. 

 

He hoped Snape would take pity on him. Snape’s wrath he could take, he told himself. Better to be punished at the hands of his master than the hands of a mad man. He silently pleaded for Snape’s mercy in his head, but there was no hand that extended out towards him. No words from his master to stop the man. Only a punishing hand, pressing him further and further into his humiliating degradation. He wondered if Peter had come back and was watching him. Another painful lurch of his stomach; another wave of fresh shame washed over him. 

 

His tongue licked and licked and licked some more. His entire mouth felt dry and grimy and he could not prevent himself from gagging over the taste and smell. When the man had deemed the lesson learned, Harry was unceremoniously thrown on the floor at his master’s side. There he remained for the entirety of the meal. He felt gratitude towards his master for not requesting anything else from him. Kneeling at Snape’s feet, he felt himself close off from the world around him.

 

He idly wondered whether or not Snape had closed the deal. If he had gotten the apothecary and was one step closer to going back home. But all he could feel was a numbness that spread through him, mixing with the fear he felt at his impending punishment. He had no idea what Snape had in store for him once they returned to their chambers, but whatever it was he knew he deserved it. 

 

Still, the man would occasionally let his hand rest on Harry’s head. He felt himself lean into the touch, momentarily forgetting where he was and just focusing on the soft movements of his master’s hand. 

 

This was better. One master he could deal with. As he had told Peter before, he had basically already been serving another master back at home. What was one more to add to the mix? At least Snape didn’t seem to  _ enjoy _ the boy’s presence. Maybe he would be spared from some of his uncle’s more...distasteful punishments. Maybe Snape would be satisfied with his performance at dinner and have mercy. But Harry knew better. He knew he needed the punishment coming to him, he deserved it.

 

He closed his eyes to block out the tears that threatened to spill over, and instead focused on the calming, slow movements of his master’s hands on his head.

 


	11. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UPDATE WILL BE 12/30  
> THANK YOU!

A firm voice called Harry back to the present. A gentle tug on the back of his head, and an arm ungraciously pulling him up. Harry looked into the eyes of his professor, his master, for one brief moment before training them on the floor. He felt so tired. He didn’t want to think about anything, but he knew he had to face the consequences of his actions.  


Snape was telling him something. Harry tried to focus on the man’s lips but the pounding in his ears prevented him from taking anything in. He nodded dumbly, and let himself by dragged away by exasperated master. Harry spared a look around the tavern as he was led up the creaky wooden stairs, and wondered how long ago Peter and his master had left. Just how long had he been this out of it?  


He could see rather than hear Snape muttering to himself as they clambered up the stairs.  
With each step Harry’s legs felt like lead, carrying the deadening weight of his protesting body. His body knew, it knew it would be facing punishment.  


How could he not expect it, after the afternoon with Snape? No doubt the dinner did little to rectify his precarious situation. No, Harry knew he would be on his knees begging for what he knew he deserved, what he needed to be a “good boy”.  


He shuddered. Snape did not seem to like that. He threw a dirty look at Harry before slamming their door shut and throwing Harry to the floor. He began pacing the room, like a predatory circling its prey, every so often resting his eyes on Harry with a sour expression on his face.  


For a while it seemed like Snape wouldn’t say anything. Harry idly wondered if he was meant to speak first, to beg Snape for mercy or punishment. But he could not speak. He dare not. He was too numb. He knew once he started Snape would see the blubbering, pitiful, worthless mess he was.  
Snape’s grim expression once again turned on Harry.  
“So.” he began, clearing his throat. “So.” he repeated. Harry nodded glumly. He knew where this was going. Snape did indeed wish to see his subservience before administering punishment. Should he list his offences? What did Snape consider the most grievous one? Had he performed that badly during the dinner? 

Harry shuffled to his knees and kept his eyes on the wooden floorboards, not keen on meeting such hatred-filled eyes. He could only imagine what the man thought of him. How miserable he must be, being stuck here with only Harry for company. 

Harry found himself shake as he rattled off his offences in his head. Where to start? What would Snape expect of him? He suddenly wished he was back at the Dursleys; at least there he knew where he stood, what was expected of him. But no, Snape was a much better master than Vernon. 

Harry grimaced at referring to Vernon as a master, even in his head. But what was Harry, if not a dutiful servant in the Dursley home? What was he, if not his Uncle’s punching bag? He shook his head. He had to focus. Snape was the one he should be pleasing right now. 

“Master” he began, but Snape cut him off with a raised hand. Harry bit back a whimper. So he was not allowed to speak then? Was he to earn that privilege as well? His throat constricted painfully. Snape must be even more upset than earlier, when he had found Peter and Harry neglecting their duties. 

Must he show he was contrite then? Beg his master for forgiveness with his body? He could do that. He felt shame claw at his belly as he shuffled forward and threw himself at his master’s feet. Clutching Snape’s legs pitifully, he pressed his face against the man's legs. He could see the shiny black leather of the man's shoes, and couldn't help but think of just how recently he had come into contact with another man’s boots. He trembled. Would Snape like him to perform that degrading task as well, as recompense? He felt his mouth go dry, and his stomach clench with dread. 

Snape peered down at him with an unreadable expression. It made Harry nervous. Usually Vernon would say something. He wouldn’t just stand there gawking at him. Was he doing something wrong? Did Snape expect something else? Harry’s mind panicked, thinking of the best way to appease the man he had to call master.

He whined, blinking back tears of frustration as he continued to press himself into the pant leg of his master. His hands clutched at the fabric pitifully. He dare not rise from the position. Snape had to direct him, he had to. He needed to be told what to do; what was expected of him.

He wanted to be granted the privilege of asking Snape for his mercy. Why didn’t the man want him to speak? It was all too confusing for Harry.  
He didn’t realize he was crying until a hand cupped his face, tilting it upwards. Harry found himself looking into Snape’s eyes. He lowered his gaze, sniffling and bringing a sleeve to wipe his nose. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Snape shook his head. He pulled him upwards and directed him to the bed. Snape’s bed! That was no place for Harry. He pulled back away from the man uncertainly, shaking his head. Snape looked at him levelly for a moment before shrugging, sitting down on the edge of the bed while Harry took his place on the floor. 

He could feel Snape looking at him and it made him uncomfortable. He felt so lost. He didn’t know what was expected of him. He knew he needed to be punished, but he also knew Snape didn’t want him speaking. Was there something more to this?  
Harry moved closer to Snape and the bed, gazing again at the man’s shoes. The black shiny leather was not so different from Brenton’s boots, if you thought about it. Same grimy taste if you lick them. But Harry was not about to lick Snape’s boots. No, that would be reserved only if his master commanded it of him. He did not want that taste in his mouth again. But there was something else he could do , to show Snape how sorry he was, and that he was ready and willing to receive his punishment. He would not shirk away.

He crawled the short distance to the man, and bent forward, pressing his lips against each boot. He prostrated himself before the man, shivering as he did so. There he thought grimly. He knew his place. 

He felt a sharp tug at his hair.  
“Is this a game to you?” Snape seethed at Harry, who flinched at the man’s sharp tone.

“S-sorry?” Harry stuttered, not quite believing the man’s words. A game? What was the man playing at?

“Are you playing me for a fool?” Snape deadpanned.

“No master?” 

Snape sighed. “Then what.are.you.playing.at?”

Harry blinked. “I...don’t know? Master?”

“Well that much is obvious.”

A beat of silence before Snape spoken again. "We still haven’t spoken about this afternoon”.

Harry paled. “Yes master. I’m s-sorry master. Please master I...I accept your punishment”. 

He hung his head, painfully aware of the close distance between him and his master. He could practically feel the body heat radiating from the man. He had little doubts as to what would happen next. 

“Punishment” Snape repeated.

Harry grimaced. Was the man expecting him to name his own punishment? Give the man some ideas? Would he be upset if Harry named lighter punishments than his master felt he deserved? He had no clue what sort of disciplinary actions Snape liked to follow, but somehow he felt Snape was drawn more towards the…”glories of medieval discipline” as he so keenly put it.

“Yes master. You can...whip me, bind me, belt or beat me…”  
Snape blanched. “Harry”  
Harry flinched at the use of his first name. Vernon only did that when...but no. Harry prayed it would not be that kind of punishment.  
“You can starve me! Send me to work without sleep! Please master” his voice took on a high pitch, nervous Snape wouldn’t like any of his suggestions and resort to more...drastic measures.

Harry got to his knees and raised his hands in desperate supplication.  
“Master please, please beat me I deserve it. I did not tell you where I was going, I neglected my duties in serving you I....I looked Lord Brenton in the eyes and I...I kept the fact that he was Peter’s master a secret from you!”

Snape nodded. “You did do all of those things”. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. So Snape was agreeing with him. He was a failure. Look at how many things he had messed up in one measly afternoon. 

But Snape was too quiet, much quieter than he usually was. All throughout Harry’s panicked speech he said nothing, just gazing at the boy as his voice grew quieter and more desperate, as his demeanor turned into a shivering, quaking mess on the floor. 

“I did master” Harry whispered. Harry spotted his belt lying on top of his wooden bed. Although it was smaller and less thick than Snape’s, it was sure to be quite painful. Perhaps Snape wanted a demonstration, to show him that Harry was ready to begin. After all, the man had already agreed with his listed transgressions. Better to get this over with now, and serve him better tomorrow. He would do better. He could do this.

He reached over and brought his belt before his master, bowing his head and holding it out in front of him, arms outstretched. Hot tears splashed down his face and onto the floor. He hoped it was enough for the man. He didn’t know what he would do if Snape asked anything more of him.

It felt like eternity, but perhaps it was only a moment before Snape’s hand curled around Harry’s wrist, bringing him an inch away from the man. Snape gently removed the belt from Harry’s grasp, and set it down on the bed.

“What do we have here?” he muttered, bringing his hand to Harry’s chin to tilt his face to meet his own. His thumb wiped away fresh tears falling down Harry’s cheeks. He flinched at the contact, cursing inwardly at his weakness. If his master wanted to touch him, he could touch him. Who was he to say otherwise?

“Potter. Harry. What do you think is happening here?”

Harry gave him a confused look.  
“What do you mean master?”

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “I do not make a habit of repeating myself”. 

Harry blushed. “Of course master. Sorry master. I only meant, I did not understand. Is this a trick question? Er...not that I think you’re trying to trick me master. Not-not that it’s not okay if you are master. That is to say, whatever you do is fine with me master”. Harry finished lamely.

There it was. Snape’s beady eyes boring into his own again. Harry immediately lowered his gaze, horrified at his response to the man. He sounded like an idiot. 

He did not know what Snape was trying to see in Harry’s eyes. He felt the man study him for a few more moments, as if deciding what to do with him.

“I tire of this” Snape sighed.  
“I do not know what game you think you are playing but I will have none of it boy. Perhaps the evening with Brenton has left you disoriented. We will deal with this in the morning.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. In the morning? He had to wait the entire night before Snape decided what to do with him? What he really that bad?

Harry nodded glumly. 

“Good” Snape nodded. “Now, go to sleep. I don’t know what’s been with you today.” 

Harry wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. What was the matter with him today?  
“Yes master” he heard himself say. 

He heard the man climb into bed with another sigh. It was not long before he could hear the man’s snores, but Harry would be getting no sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and reviews, they keep me going! 
> 
> Poor Harry
> 
> It will get worse before it gets better
> 
> Happy Sunday everyone, hope to post again within the next few days.
> 
> Besos!


	12. The Next Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know...I've put this on hold for a while.  
> But I'm back! 
> 
> Hope you guys have had amazing holidays and of course....are celebrating the last few days of 2018!  
> Thank you for all your comments, suggestions, and reviews.
> 
> Besos!

When Snape awoke the next morning, he was surprised to see Harry lying awake, staring at him from across the room. In fact he doubted the boy had moved much at all since their talk last night. Snape sighed heavily to himself. He had half been hoping Harry had woken up at his usual early time to retrieve some breakfast. The conversation Snape was planning was definitely not one he wanted to have on an empty stomach. Snape wondered idly when he began referring to Potter as Harry in his head. It was a subtle change, to be sure, but a big one. Well well well. Lily would be proud. He mocked himself drily. 

 

Harry felt himself startle when Snape’s eyes bore into his own. He had spent the last few hours lost in his own thoughts and emotions that it took him a moment to even register his master was awake. Immediately he felt a cold sense of dread upon him. He had come so close to his breaking point last night. He feared one more encounter with Snape would send him off the edge. His master. At least here the man was. Back at home Harry served another master. One who didn’t deserve the title uncle for the atrocities he did, but so he was called nonetheless. Whether or not they would even make it back to their own timeline was another story. 

 

Again, Harry felt himself panic. How did last night’s conversation go? Was his master successful in obtaining the apothecary? No...but Snape did not look happy last night. Fear shot through Harry like an arrow. He had not even thought it fit to administer Harry’s punishment. Perhaps this was also part of the punishment. The waiting. The seemingly endless waiting, while Harry drowned himself in his thoughts. Sometimes he hated to be alone with his thoughts. Better to be busy and numb, than alone and with time to spare. 

 

Again, he felt Snape’s eyes settle on him, and he lowered his head in shame. Was this it then? The long awaited moment? Had he finally decided upon a suitable punishment? Harry just hoped it wasn’t a public one. He didn’t think he could stomach having Peter see him like this. No, he needed to be the strong one for Peter. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry forced himself forward. With mechanical movements, he walked towards the man he called master. Hesitating only briefly, he dropped to his knees and drew his hands behind his back, clasped together tightly. Sometimes Uncle Vernon liked this show of subservience.  _ Never look an angry man in the eye _ Harry reminded himself, ducking his head even further. Especially not an irate master. 

 

It almost exasperated him that Snape had yet to say anything. What was going on? Harry racked his brain going through their conversation last night. Snape didn’t seem to like it when Harry took the lead, listing off potential punishments. In fact he didn’t seem to want Harry to speak at all, since his expression seemed to worsen the longer Harry kept talking. But, the man was silent! Was this his punishment? His master’s silence? Well that was hardly a punishment at all. Harry would take the cold treatment any day over the cruel lash of the belt or….the  _ other _ kind of punishment his Uncle liked to inflict. Harry shuddered. 

 

_ Worthless. Abnormal. _

Harry reminded himself of his place while silently awaiting a signal from Snape. 

When he finally felt Snape move forward, it took every ounce of strength Harry had to not flinch away from the man. His hands tightened in dread, anticipating the worst. 

 

When Snape’s hand curled around the back of Harry’s head, Harry let out a gasp. He didn’t mean to; he just wasn’t expecting his cold hands to reach him there, and his eyes snapped up towards his master to read his expression. 

 

But Snape was a master at neutrality. His poker face must serve him well with the dark lord, Harry couldn’t help thinking. He lowered his eyes demurely, afraid of saying anything yet wishing desperately to voice his thoughts. 

 

Snape’s hand pet his hair almost affectionately. But Harry knew better than to trust those movements. He could feel rather than see Snape’s eyes on him, and he was almost grateful for his master’s hand, a steadying source while Harry melted from the inside from all the confusing thoughts inside his head. 

 

“Master” Harry finally ventured to whisper, cursing inwardly as soon as the word fell from his lips. The gentle hand movements stopped. Snape released his hold on Harry, and the boy felt the loss immediately. He curled in on himself, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear smaller. He shouldn’t have said anything! Damn his mouth.

 

“Harry” Snape said softly. Harry cringed. Back to calling him by his first name. Snape always called him Potter at home. That famous Potter...and other mocking nicknames Snape liked to bestow on him during class. But never Harry. 

 

Suddenly it was all too much. Harry felt tears brimming and hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand. 

 

“Harry” Snape repeated. Harry gave no indication of hearing him, hot tears splashing down, wetting his flushed cheeks. He sniffled. Snape drew Harry’s face towards him with his hands, lifting up his chin. “Harry” he repeated again, more firmly this time. Harry flinched. He focused his gaze on the man’s hands, strong and holding his head up high to meet his own. 

  
  


“Master please” Harry breathed. He could not take one more second of this. No more waiting. 

 

“Master my punishment.” he continued. He felt Snape freeze, and he shut his eyes before resuming. Better to get this over with. He couldn’t stand another night of waiting. 

“I deserve it master, I know I do. I promise I can be good. Please punish me master, I can’t take the waiting. I know it’s your right to make me wait as long as you’d like but... _ please _ , I beg of you. Don’t make me wait anymore. P-Please master.” Harry’s voice broke on the last two words. 

 

He felt Snape lift him up by his arms and suddenly they were both standing face to face. Much too close. Harry stepped back deferentially, lowering his head. 

“What do you think is happening here?”

 

Ah, the same question from last night. 

Harry felt a spike of anger towards the man. What game was  _ Snape _ playing at? Did he not think he knew his place?

 

“I am your servant here master. You told me to fit into my role and I have. It is you who...who…” Harry trailed off, afraid he had said too much. 

 

“I just don’t understand what you want from me” he whispered.

Snape inhaled sharply. 

 

“And that is precisely what I am trying to understand from you. I understand you had a rough treatment last night from Lord blast his name...perhaps you just need time to yourself today”.

 

Harry looked up incredulously. Time to himself? Was the man insane?

“Master NO!” 

Snape raised his eyebrow.

 

“I mean...please no? I can’t. Please. I can’t be by myself. Please. Anything else. Beat me. Please master, I  _ know _ you’ve wanted to hit me more than once back at school. Well you are well within your right now. Please master. Just don’t leave me alone”. 

 

Harry was somewhat surprised he was still standing, although his legs wobbled beneath him as he tried to find the strength to say those words and contradict his master.

  
  


“Well within my right” Snape repeated. 

“So you’re telling me, you  _ want  _ me to hit you. You  _ want _ me to take advantage of a young boy, in my care, in another realm and time period. You  _ want _ me to treat you like a servant? Because it’s my  _ right?” _

 

Snape looked thunderous. 

 

“Are you  _ trying _ to taunt me? Of course I’ve wanted to hit you boy! You’re nothing but a spoiled imbecile with a penchant for trouble” Harry flinched at Snape’s scathing remark.

 

“But  **_beat_ ** you? When I already make you call me master? When I’m already nothing but horrid to you? Are you insane boy?”

 

Harry suddenly felt very small. “But...but. But then what are you going to do to me?”

 

Snape scoffed. “You want your punishment? Fine.” He walked up to Harry and scuffed him once in the back of the head. “There. For all the times I’ve wanted to hex you in your seat at school. But not for last night. Not for anything you  _ think _ you may have done to warrant punishment in the first place. Now go get me breakfast. I’m in no mood to continue this silly discussion with you”. 

  
Harry nodded uncertainly. He was confused by the sudden turn of events, but a direct order he could follow. 

 

“And Potter” Snape called as Harry walked towards the door. Harry turned around, cognizant of the fact that Snape purposely called him by his last name. “Yes master?”

 

“Tonight we will have a discussion about Privet Drive”.

 

Harry blanched. 

“Master I-”

But the man cut him off with one hard look. Harry gulped, his eyes darting around the room as panic flared in his chest. 

 

“By the way Potter. Congratulations are in order. We will move to the apothecary this afternoon. Now make  haste. Don’t you dare bring my meal up cold. And fix your hair you look like you slept in a barn” Snape scrunched up his nose while sizing up Harry. 

 

“Yes master” Harry replied dutifully. He felt dazed, confused, and nervous for tonight’s discussion. But the apothecary! He hadn’t failed! He felt a small twinge of excitement as he realized they were one step closer to making it back home. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! 
> 
> What's up with this Brenton guy?   
> Reaching some plot goals as they finally get to the Apothecary.   
> Some tension between Harry and Snape  
> And poor foolish Everard
> 
> Hope you enjoy my lovelies  
> Sorry haven't updated in a while
> 
> BTW!!!! Avengers AND GOT --> What a wild weekend! 
> 
> Besos

It seemed that Snape’s ominous words had left a bitter imprint on Harry’s day. 

Everard, the ever unreliable son, had been seen by no less than five people, leaving the tavern the night before with the Crowley girl. 

 

Unfortunately for him, this wasn’t just another one of his drunken escapes.  

 

“Me rat-arsed son is going to get himself killed” Harry heard the barkeep muttering to himself. It was bad enough the boy had yet again shirked his duties. 

 

But this time, she wasn’t just any girl with impaired judgement looking for a quick lay. She was betrothed, and from what Harry could make out, it wasn’t to just  _ any  _ family. No, her beauty had marked this lower caste girl for the son of a  _ butcher’s boy _ . Much higher up the social ladder than the barkeep’s boy, or so the people murmured. 

 

The barkeep occasionally cast worried glances at the door, afraid of who would barge in and with what charges. People talked, and even a drunken eye could piece together that the pair were more than casual acquaintances.

 

The barkeep wasn’t keen on kindling a family rivalry. If they were fortunate enough, he said, then they could put it off to nothing more than a drunken whisper. He shrugged at Harry’s incredulous expression. 

 

“Mind ye, would yer look after the keep, lad?” he asked Harry hopefully. 

 

Harry glowed at being offered such a responsibility. He nodded vigorously.

“Yes sir. Anything to help.”. 

 

The barkeep gave him a grateful smile before gathering a few gruffy-looking men from the tavern to set out to look for his son before news reached the girl’s family. 

 

Harry couldn’t spare much sympathy for Everard. He had made and lain in his own bed, so to speak. Besides, there were more pressing matters in his mind. Not only was he nursing a splitting headache, but was battling waves of nausea that came any time he thought about his impending discussion with Snape, all paired with the fair amount of work he still had left to do before the barkeep came back. 

 

To make matters worse, he hadn’t seen Peter at all today. His morning solace was seeing Peter enter through the tavern door, catching his eye and seeing the small smile that played at his lips as way of greeting. But not today. He wondered if Brenton was happy about the apothecary deal, and how much Snape had offered the man. 

 

A part of him felt a renewed surge of hope at the prospect of Snape having a place to work. It was much needed at this point. 

 

Harry grimaced, trying to ignore the steady, throbbing pulse of his front head. The pain seared into him, leaving his brain addled and making it difficult to concentrate. It didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten this morning. 

 

Snape had taken on a stony silence for much of the day, breathing not so much of a word when Harry offered him his breakfast. Perhaps it was better that way, Harry thought grimly. 

 

He pushed back the fresh wave of nausea when he thought about Snape’s words. Talking about  _ Privet Drive. _ What business was it of his? Why would he even bring it up in the first place? Harry wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on the back of his dirty pants, shaking off his tremulous thoughts. 

 

_ No need to make yourself sick  _ he told himself.  _ You’ll get what’s coming to you later _ . 

 

It was late afternoon by the time the barkeep returned, with a sour downcast expression and two surly looking men behind him holding up a bedraggled-looking man between their arms. 

 

“Sir? Is everything alright?” Harry asked the man anxiously, peering up at him with nervous eyes. 

 

“Aye son”. The man patted his shoulder affectionately, sparing him a quick glance. 

“Would that I had a son like you” he shook his head. “Obedient and kind. Yer a good lad, boy. I offer me heartfelt thanks for looking after me keep” 

 

Harry flushed at the man’s praise. Words such as these were pure rarity for someone as worthless as him. A part of himself was dismayed to be so easily swindled by such simple words, and yet what sweet sentiments they were! 

 

“I’m glad I could be of service sir”. 

 

The barkeep looked at him sadly. 

“Such kindness lies within you boy. Not like that rotten shriveled one possessed by me son, the oaf. Just fucks and screws and lays, not bearing to think of such consequences he actions might incite”. 

 

Harry glanced at the man lying limp between the two men’s arms worriedly. 

“Sir, is he...is he alright?” 

 

The barkeep laughed, hollow and mirthless, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. 

“He’ll be fine lad. He’s alive”

 

“Don’t think he’ll be up for any fucking any time soon” one of the men holding him chimed in, a nasty sneer on his face. 

 

Harry gulped. If that mess was Everard, looking bloody, broken and unconscious, he didn’t dare to think what had transpired. 

 

“Aye, thee finally gave the whelp the whipping he deserves” the other one nodded solemnly. 

Harry blanched. This was done by  _ his father? _

 

“You...you whipped him sir?” he whispered, his eyes not leaving Everard’s body. 

 

The barkeep shrugged. “Needed to be done. I prithee to not follow in his footsteps, lest you cast yerself in the same fate.”

 

“My master wouldn’t...I would never…” Harry trailed off miserably. 

 

The barkeep smiled at him. 

 

“I believe thee lad. Obedient and kind. Two redeemable qualities, marks of a good character in a servant such as yerself. No, you won’t find yourself on the other end of a whip any time soon. No need to fear”. 

 

He ruffled Harry’s hair playfully before murmuring to the other two men who carried his son to the back room. 

 

Harry didn’t know how long he stayed rooted in the spot, lost in his own whirling thoughts. His own  _ father _ had done this to him. It just went to show Harry how dangerous family could be. 

 

His Uncle...Everard’s father...perhaps it was supposed to be this way. They  _ deserved  _ this. The barkeep said so himself. 

 

Everard deserved and needed this, just as Harry deserved whatever he had coming to him. Perhaps he and Everard were in the same boat after all. Worthless, abnormal freaks. 

 

Everard with his mindless playing around and Harry with his….his...well there was Cedric. He couldn’t forget about Cedric. There were his parents, who died protecting him. That was his fault. There were the  _ Dursleys. _ They made sure to remind him just how much of a failure and freak he was. 

 

He shuddered. And now with Snape. There seemed to be nothing he could do to please the man. 

 

Harry startled as a figure approached him. The man cleared his throat impatiently. Confused, Harry lifted his gaze and met his professor’s hard, icy stare.

 

“Master” he said, self-consciously running a hand through his hair and dropping his gaze to the floor. 

 

“Busy morning I take it?” Snape looked meaningully at the rag in Harry’s hands and the dirty mugs he had yet to clean lying forgotten on the bar counter. 

 

Harry fought down the defensive remark that first came to his mind. He  _ had _ been working hard this entire morning after all. But best not to contradict his master, especially not in public. 

 

“What can I do for you master?” he tried in the most pleasant voice he could muster. 

Snape raised his brows but said nothing. 

 

Harry stole a glance at him nervously. 

“Err master? Was there something you needed?”

 

Snape bit back a sarcastic remark, reminding himself that there were more pressing matters to attend to. The boy was painfully oblivious to everything so it seemed. 

 

“Perhaps I ought to remind you of our plans for this afternoon. The apothecary?”

 

The apothecary…”Oh! Yes sir!” Harry cried. 

He had almost forgotten in the midst of the unpleasant and hectic morning running the bar by himself. 

 

“Do we need to bring anything master?” he asked Snape curiously. Snape shook his head and beckoned Harry outside the tavern. 

 

Harry felt queasy at the thought of leaving. He nervously grabbed a fistful of Snape’s robes, before snatching back his hand as if he’d been scalded. 

 

“Sorry master” he murmured, chiding himself. 

 

Snape paused, letting out a brief sigh before grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him outside.

 

They passed through cobbled streets, full of greedy vendors and merchants all bellowing their “best” prices for fresh oysters, apples, wool and the like. 

 

A man accosted Harry trying to convince him to buy the latest hat, an intense red color with a feathery plume accessory on top. Harry looked at Snape helplessly, who shoved the man unceremoniously aside and dragged Harry further along the road. 

 

“How much longer master?” Harry dared to ask. It seemed as if they had been walking for ages, and Harry was not keen on continuing without a brief respite.

 

Perhaps Snape’s would be lenient enough and allow him to rest for just a moment. He could crouch under the merciful shade of a tree perhaps. 

 

Snape sighed. “Almost there Potter. Patience”

 

Harry nodded, dutifully responding “Yes master”. 

 

He tried to ignore the throbbing of his head and the beads of sweat that trickled down his head under the hot son. He could be patient for Snape. 

 

When they arrived Harry wasn’t quite sure what to think. The place itself was small, and isolated. Not exactly what came to mind when Harry thought of an apothecary, but his master would be the judge of that. 

 

It looked shabby in Harry’s mind. 

 

“Should we...go in?” he ventured. 

 

Snape let go of his grip on Harry’s wrist and nodded, not sparing him a glance. Harry’s heartbeat quickened, wondering if they were one step closer to going back home. 

 

Inside was just as broken down as the outside. Harry scrunched his nose at the unpleasant odors wafting through the room, and the sticky remnants on the walls. 

 

But he could see Snape nodding to himself as he scanned the room appraisingly, occasionally stopping to touch as object or rearrange a piece of furniture. 

 

“This is it” the man finally announced. Harry waited for him to continue. 

 

“It’s a bit rundown, but it certainly has got its potential.” Turning his beady eyes on Harry, Snape continued “and I’ll expect you to clean it up for me of course”. 

 

Harry groaned. 

 

“But Snape! I-” he stopped himself short as he realized his mistake. Blushing, he ducked his head. “Sorry master. I just meant… nothing. Sorry”.

 

Snape gazed at him levelly before reaching out to touch the boy. Purely upon instinct, Harry flinched back, expecting a backhand of scuff to the back of the head for his small outburst. 

 

Snape’s hand stilled, before cautiously returning to the top of Harry’s head. Harry blushed again, and leaned into the man’s touch. 

 

“I know it’s a lot of work to do Harry. Do not think I am unaware, or ungrateful of the service you will be providing me by doing this. But this is something I need you to do. Can you do this for me?” 

 

He titled Harry’s head up gently, meaningfully searching his face. 

 

Harry nodded dumbly. No one had ever asked him before. He felt like an ass taking out his frustration on Snape. Snape didn’t know he had been cleaning all morning and hadn’t eaten; he was just asking for help so he could work on a potion to get them both back home. 

 

Snape was doing this all for him; cleaning was the least Harry could do to help out. 

 

He felt a rush of gratitude for the man’s simple words. It reached Harry more than he could know. 

 

“I can do that master. I’m sorry” 

 

Snape shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry for. Will you be okay staying here while I gather some supplies to bring back?” 

 

Again with the asking. So uncharacteristic of Snape. Harry looked at him dumbstruck. 

 

“Yes master” he nodded. 

 

“Good. When I come back we can discuss what I mentioned this morning. Yes?”

 

Harry’s stomach churned. It was a conversation he had been dreading all day. Snape’s reminder did nothing to ease his headache and uneasy stomach. 

 

“Yes master” he whispered. 

 

Snape nodded, and seemingly finished with the conversation, succinctly turned around, his robes billowing with the sudden motion, and left. 

 

Harry rolled up his sleeves and set to work. He needed to please this man. If he was content enough, perhaps he would get a head start on his brewing and forget about the conversation he had promised Harry. 

 

It was unpleasant business, cleaning the thick grime from every orifice of the small shack. 

Though the room itself was mostly bare, with simple pieces of furniture and the odd knick-knack or tightly sealed jar hiding in a corner, it was tough work. 

 

Harry felt exhausted by the time he heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was Snape, returning from his shopping, he opened the door, jumping back in surprise as he saw the imposing figure of Geoffrey Brenton smiling down at him. 

 

“My lord” he breathed, nervously wringing his hands together and taking a step back. 

 

Snape hadn’t told him what to do if there were visitors. He racked his brain for a way to warn Snape, his eyes darting behind the man outside. There, behind him, was a ruffled looking Peter, sporting a fresh black eye and a long red mark running down his arm. 

 

Peter spared him a quick, half-hearted smile before casting his gaze down at the floor. 

 

“My lord, my master is not here” Harry started, trying to think of a reasonable excuse to send the man back outside without appearing rude. 

 

“I can wait”. 

 

The man had a predatory smile as he gazed at Harry. Sitting down in one of the dank, wobbly chairs, he beckoned Peter to him with a quick gesture of his hand. Peter rushed to the man, and getting down on all fours, placing himself in front of his chair. 

 

Harry grimaced as Lord Brenton placed his boots on top of Peter’s small, quivering frame. 

 

_ Those boots _ .

 

Brenton seemed to read Harry’s thoughts as he smiled viciously and wiggled a boot in front of him. 

 

Clenching his fist, Harry grit out. “I don’t know when my master will be back sir”.

 

“That’s  _ Lord _ to you boy. As I told thee before, I can wait” 

 

“My Lord, wouldn’t you be more comfortable-” Harry tried again, but the man cut him off with a raised hand. 

 

Harry immediately stopped, hating how quickly the man could get to him. 

 

Brenton smiled smugly and looked around the room. He began whistling as his eyes roamed around, a sound that crept into Harry’s very being like a potent virus. Harry shuddered, the sound triggering all the painful memories of life in the Dursley household. 

 

Whistling. Vernon’s favorite past time as he listed off Harry’s transgressions, preparing for punishment. 

 

Harry whimpered, dropping to his knees. 

Lord Brenton blinked at him, surprised, before chuckling darkly. 

 

“That’s more like it boy. I see my lesson doth teach thee some humility”. 

 

Unsure of what was expected of him, Harry nodded slowly. 

 

“What’s that boy? I couldn’t hear ye” Lord Brenton chided, shaking his head in mock disapproval. 

 

Harry blushed. “Y-yes my Lord”. 

 

“Come here boy” 

 

He felt Peter’s eyes on him as he shuffled forward, closer to Lord Brenton. 

 

“Does yer master like the apothecary?” 

Harry wondered how best to respond. What answer was the man looking for? 

 

A sharp, stinging slap brought him from his thoughts. 

“When I ask thee a question, I expect a reply” 

 

Harry shuddered. “Yes my Lord. He likes the apothecary. He’s very grateful to you”.

 

“Grateful. I’m glad to hear it”. 

 

Harry didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice, but made sure to keep his eyes lowered lest he incite the man’s wrath. He did not want a repeat of that “lesson in humility”. 

 

He served one master. Snape. He could deal with Snape. But where was the man? Harry shut his eyes tightly, willing the man to burst through the door at any moment and come and save him from this man. 

 

There was something about him that he didn’t like. Something was off about him. His predatory gaze...the way he smiled. He wasn’t trustworthy. 

 

As if having heard Harry’s silent plea, Harry heard the door burst open and a harried-looking Snape rushed through, stopping in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. 

 

He set the things in his arms to the side, before clearing his throat and walking towards Brenton. 

  
  


“My Lord” he inclined his head respectfully. “What a pleasant surprise”. 

 

The man flashed another dangerous smile, kicking back his legs in a motion that almost sent Peter sprawling to the floor. 

 

“I take it thee doth like the place?” Brenton asked, a smile playing at his lips. 

Snape willed himself to smile, looking more like a painful grimace plastered on his face as he walked towards Harry, and pulled him up from the floor. 

 

“Yes. I am so grateful to you”.

 

“Grateful” Brenton repeated. “Aye, that’s what yer boy said”. Snape cast a wary glance at Harry before looking back at Brenton. 

 

After a long pause, Brenton sighed dramatically. 

 

“Well, I can tell when I’m not welcome. My heart doth sing that you and yer boy can make some use of this. I bid thee farewell. Until our next meeting”.

 

“Until our next meeting” Snape repeated dryly, watching as Brenton kicked Peter out of the way to get up from his chair. Peter scuffled behind him, hastily bowing towards Snape before following his master out the door. 

 

Snape said nothing for a few moments. 

Harry felt so much gratitude for his master in that moment that he wrapped his arms around the man tightly. 

 

“Thank you master” he breathed, pressing his face towards the man’s chest and tightening his grip. 

 

“You silly fool”. 

 

Snape glared down at him but it was with gentle hands that he untangled himself from the boy’s strong embrace. 

 

“I pray we don’t have any more encounters with that man” Snape muttered darkly. 

 

“I don’t trust him” Harry piped, glaring towards the door. 

 

Snape nodded. “That is one of the few things we agree on”. 

 

“He gives me the heebie-jeebies” Harry added thoughtfully. Snape looked back at him with a bemused expression before Harry clarified “It’s a muggle saying” with a quick shrug.

 

Snape scanned the room with approval. “Not bad Potter. I didn’t think you’d manage” 

 

Harry felt euphoric at such high praise coming from Snape, who hardly ever uttered a pleasant word to him. 

 

“Thank you master” he said sincerely, ducking his head. 

He peaked curiously at the objects on the table.

 

“Don’t fret Potter, I obtained what we needed” Snape remarked amused, following Harry’s line of vision. 

 

Harry grinned sheepishly. 

“I’m glad sir. Master”

 

Snape spared him one last glance before walking to the rusted table and pulling out a chair.

“Sit”. 

 

Harry gulped. 

“Master?”

 

“I don’t make a habit of repeating myself” Snape grit out, making Harry rush to the chair nervously. 

 

“Sorry” Harry muttered, ducking his head.

He dreaded what was to follow.

 

“So”. Snape said softly.

“You know what I’m about to discuss”

 

Harry nodded mutely. His stomach felt like lead. He gripped the chair tightly on both sides, willing his body to calm down as his heart fluttered and head throbbed like the painful beating of a drum. 


End file.
